There is a man in a cell, doubting his decision.
There is a man next to him, forgiving his own sin.
There is a nun in the convent, looking up for god.
There is a priest in his tower, looking down on man.
There is a morning somewhere now, rising in the sky.
There is an evening settling down, fading away.
There is growth and rebirth and death and decay.
There is stunted potential and dreams are fulfilled.
There is a woman in a car, trying to drive the narrow.
There is a woman walking slowly while the curb bends from her feet.
There is a salesman pitching innings, and it’s only just the first.
There is a customer, buying everything his wallet touches last.
There is the sun and all the stars, defiant in their heavens.
There is the moon and all the galaxies, distant purgatories.
There is the dollar and there is time, but not for everything.
There is a place and there are habits, just about for everyone.
There is a girl and a boy, holding hands together.
There is a boy and a girl, yelling at each other.
There is the singer speaking only of times past.
There is the crowd remembering what never was.
There is a chance and there is nothing, one waiting for the other.
There is a cage and there is freedom, depending on one another.
There is everything and there is nothing, not exclusive in their stance.
There is yin and there is yang, a bigger purpose than the pieces.
There is a mother smiling somewhere, her child is at her feet.
There is a father laughing loudly, tickle fighting with his children.
There is a chef inside the kitchen, creating something new.
There is a hungry girl at the table, fork already in her hand.
There is a bed, with a family lying on it and they are sleeping soundly.
There is tomorrow and there was yesterday, but today is almost over.
There is a dream and a reaction, an explosion of motivation for the soul.
There is always something waiting, but just for those who seek it out.
