Underneath a soul well-traveled lies lots of things that lead to the present day

Things that where neither meaningless or special in present forms

A reminder of things past and a recollection of things done before

Ever spinning around the soul like a top when twirled onto the floor.

Un-rehearsed actions that tell a story of a life that is lived and still remains

Pictures promote the happily ever after but behind those photos are stains

Stains of all the things that have rubbed of onto this soul.

Things that were broken and once again was made whole

Faults all on their own, nothing really to blame

The soul is a like a piano in that it plays sometimes, mindless tunes

No real rhyme or reason

Playing as if there is an audience of believers of the same things

Never learning the real truth,

The one that lies underneath a life full of living

And a heart filled to the brim with  lots of believing.