Half hundred half read books smoking on his floor.
Staring, wondering how they would have ended.
Doesn’t finish anything.
He kicked his wheel, built it up and she wrecked it.
Make way for this gem.
Ice cream cones come true after he trashes them.
What if it’s all worth the hassle,
and what if he never finds out?
Truth and simple lead to stronger.
This listen-to list is only getting longer.
‘I finish nothing, so nothing ever ends.
And I can’t go there,
because I don’t know where she went.’
Do you hear angels sing?
What a deal, scored some records for my devil.
Remembering bliss,
I screamed, ‘I’ll wait forever just to feel this.’
What is waiting, but the freedom
to work this life into whatever we desire?
So, we crawl, then we run
with time and the sun on our shoulders.
After fall, winter comes
with the same exact sun, but it’s colder.
And we shake, then we breathe,
in time, with the wings on our shoulders.
After all this, we see
we’re like angels who sing, but we’re older.
Puts out books to see where he left off.
To know how they got older,
to see that things got mended.
These stories he let smolder.
To know how they all ended.
this is your life chuck johnson 