Turning Pages

Feel
Vividness of play
I build inside my mind
With all your sympathy
To rhythme and logics.
Real
Shades of grief and joy
Are rare to find,
It all gone fantasy
Or movie projects.

Whose
Turn to love or bleed?
Sole power to say yes
Belonges to author,
Give me chance to use it --
Each
Time I feel revealed,
You check-matting my guess.
I find this part of plot
A bit confusing.

Truth
Is as old as hills:
I had no guts to look
Backstage. It's late
Now, I imagine.
This
Life is not a piece,
It is a book:
You can't read on
Without turning pages.