I Have to Live

I try my best to ignore bad decisions,
Messages that can't be unsent,
Moves that can't be undone.
So scared of the repercussions.

The trial has already begun.
The error plays all around me
And I'm not sure where to run.
Lord, what have I done?

Just then I heard a door open.
I knew he was home.
I didn't ask for advice,
But complimented him some.

I saw that his skin was flaking
Off the top of his dome.
He had been burned by the sun
In a place where he had hair once.

When I told him what was wrong,
He fed me some coincidental wisdom.
He said, “Son,
That's just something I have to live with today.”

The Doors

The fridge door keeps the cold air in,

while the front door keeps the hot air in.

The back door let's the breeze blow through,

but the side door's where the kids sneak in.

Have you ever tried to open the door

of a creator's mind? You might start saying, The Creator.

A part of you might die, but a part of you might live

like never before.

Entertain the Simultaneous

Passed down through the years, hand me downs wear thin

like a story stemmed from a bad translation. The words

highlight on the screen. We have to feel them to sing what they mean.

The timid wait till tomorrow to transcend.

                                                                                       To conquer right now,

we're all born at the same time, living stories that seem strange.

Bridge that generation gap after certainty of greener pastures

fails to bring brighter futures. You are the audience and the entertainment.

I Didn't Trip

When I walk through the pitch black
hallways, painting the invisible corridors
with my eyes. I imagine a shape on the top step,
a breathing kitty hologram, waiting in the trip zone.
A flip of the switch reveals nothing, but a return to normal.
There's nothing unexpected in this house.

The Story on This Side of the Screen

Before the film screens a window to another world, conversations in a movie theater fill the silence. This was before the trivia games and advertisements took advantage of the empty frame. You could listen to them. Couples. First dates. Budding adults. Seasoned vets. There is another single reading something. She's older. There will be at least seven more by the time the velvet curtain parts, and the light illuminates the white, an indication of the clearly marked emergency exits, and a request to turn phones to silent. The story starts without a forbidding of fruit and some smartass bites an apple. Breaks the illusion. A few feel offended and leave. Fewer reserve judgment till the end, when the stream of names wraps into a tight reel, when the curtain closes to protect the screen from accumulating dust in the interim.