Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is just another day.
What does it mean any way?
Tomorrow, it will be today.
Tomorrow, today will be yesterday.
What to prove, what is my point you say?
Tomorrow is a thought that will not go away.
We yearn for it on a shitty day,
When we get there, nothing is different any way.
The sun is up, soak in its rays,
But yet, those were there yesterday.
So see, tomorrow is always a day away.
You will never get there, yet you try any way.
So if you are looking for wisdom, today is a prison.
The sentence is life, so broaden your vision.
You sell the idea like you are getting commission.
You have nothing to profit, so why don’t you drop it.
Though I know you won’t listen and it’s rough around the edges,
So take life and crop it.
No reason to keep the blurred pieces there.
I don’t mean to upset you, I just want you to be aware.
BrandonSIG

 

 


Brandon-Brandon Fromm is my eldest son. He is a talented wordsmith, lyricist and story teller. After years of begging him to write something for me, he finally relented. He hosts the Facebook group “Pencil to Paper” where he and his like-minded friends share some of their writing. Brandon and I disagree daily, but we both respect each others’ intelligence and we have our best conversations after 2 a.m. 

Déjà vu.

Manipulation is a valuable tool,
Whether opposed to the guards, the kings or the fool.
Kicking the legs under the stool? That would be cruel.
Now if you’re the stool, that’s really not cool.
Now understand, no one likes to be kicked.
Also remember, no one likes to be tricked.
The kicker, the trickster?
Who is really the prick?
Don’t think of an answer, it has to be quick.
Well to be honest, its the one made of sticks.
Always doing nothing,
Or on the wrong end of a swift kick,
On rare occasions losing a limb to a pair of steel toes (size 6?)
Regardless, you’re doing nothing.
You have one job, to be under someone,
Fuck being the stool, it’s back to a stick.
At least as the stick, I’m nor the prick or the fool.
Good luck bending me, now who is manipulating who?
I’m not giving up, just providing Déjà vu.


Brandon-Brandon Fromm is my eldest son. He is a talented wordsmith, lyricist and story teller. After years of begging him to write something for me, he finally relented. He hosts the Facebook group “Pencil to Paper” where he and his like-minded friends share some of their writing. Brandon and I disagree daily, but we both respect each others’ intelligence and we have our best conversations after 2 a.m. 

Morality.

FootprintsI get it; your morals, your standards,
how you would lay on the tracks
for the things that you stand for.
But I want that respect,
I refuse to be slandered.

I want the uppity,
holier than thou
way of thinking abandoned.

Agree to disagree? I wish,
but you look down upon my disbelief.
Accept who I am,
for my beliefs I will keep.

We may walk different paths,
but the destination’s concrete,
At the end of the road,
tattered shoes on our feet.
These paths that we’re walking?
I told you they’d meet.

For nobody knows,
when it comes to the “soul.”
I feel like for most,
this “soul” is a show.

Hop off that high horse,
walk a little while.
Put on my shoes and start walking,
you have exactly one mile.


Brandon-Brandon Fromm is my eldest son. He is a talented wordsmith, lyricist and story teller. After years of begging him to write something for me, he finally relented. He hosts the Facebook group “Pencil to Paper” where he and his like-minded friends share some of their writing. Brandon and I disagree daily, but we both respect each others’ intelligence and we have our best conversations after 2 a.m.