A Closed Book

Each day, an old book closes. The story
is finished; the pen runs dry. Each page
is filled with a bunch of smaller stories:
memories: words that echo through
the skulls of its reader. One day,
the story we are navigating through
will expire as we retire – as the fire
dies – souls will fly into open skies.
Lies will become truths. Rough will
become smooth. Old age will become
youth. We are the characters inside
an open book that will, one day,
be closed – to be open once again
by a different pair of hands.
Until the book closes, look closer
at the plot and decide your ending:
one better than you ever thought.
Keep writing your story. Make it
a good one. We are still writing;
let’s make a book that someone
would want to pick up and read:
a plant grown from a small seed.

Be Kind: Rewind

VHS tapes. Timestamps.
Old footage. New smiles.
Old cars. More miles.
New styles. Old fashion.
New years. Old days.
Old views. New plays.
The VHS player
is a time machine,
and the tapes help
me escape. Years ago,
I wanted to grow
– get old. I was young.
Now, I got what
I wanted. I am older.
I put in an old tape.
I rewind it. I remind
myself of who I was
as I press play and
get lost in an old day.