Retrace the line a little to the left.
Deep breath, the stretch of rubbery debris.
You see the new creation taking shape.
Now wave your hands and brush the past away.
You never need an artist for the art.
The part is played by those who wrote the lines.
Sometimes the little ditty in your head
Is tune instead to bring the hope to life.
Stand tall. Breath free.
No one but you can tell
If this is all there is -
And heaven’s door.
Or if some window
Lets you jump toward Hell.