Time is too short to forget what’s passed,
Mortality’s a shadow that grows in your path,
All we need is time.
Shouting words that remained un-spoken,
Living the dreams that you’ve woven,
All you needed was time.
Always reading backwards to learn something new,
It seems to always circle back to you,
All it needs is time.
Hearing the words that remain un-spoken,
Trapped in the dreams that you’ve woven,
All you have is time.
The shoes I chose were devoid a path,
I traveled that way but, made it back,
All I had was time.
There’s roads less traveled and some that are made,
They’re a part of that person that was embraced,
All was once in time.
Reading the words that remained un-spoken,
Remembering the dreams that we’ve woven,
I’ve enjoyed this time,
Always love your time.

The Sketch

Within two dimensions there hides a third,
ones true reflections are observed,
no lies exist when a visions heard,
for there is no death in a canvas world.

Hearts tormented lie in a pool,
eventually sinking with the other fools,
still grasping for what caused their demise,
love and passion without cold and wise.

Scratching emotions onto a page,
unrestricted by conformity’s rage,
colors bloom in black and gray,
attempting to express what you cannot say.

Within these visions lies a void,
for interpretations often destroy,
desires to express instead of hide,
the true relevance of what’s been confided.

Within two dimensions there dwells a third,
only acknowledged by the few absurd,
dwelling in expression not illusive needs,
never to capture the eyes of what seems.

I arrived beneath a gray Ohio sky
embraced by bitter February arms
I was the only to pass through that door
and last to carry on the name
but I paled in her sun of expectation
and I had to create my own.

I’d shown my own sun like she taught me
away from the snow and the glowing autumn trees
into a blue wonder of sand and seas
into a tidal mass of humanity
where nothing is stone
where nowhere is home.

I became fed by a space where my place doesn’t matter
an electrical grid being the ambilical to the gathering
where I drowned in hours of diversion
where I gained monetarily from the conversions
but when I looked to show her, she was gone
under a May rain from the gray Ohio sky.

Bye Mom

James G Conzett 06/01/2011

Shell Of Me

I watch as they burn their bridges from childhood to the pain of reality. Though not up to me to mediate anymore, I do stand on the opposite cliff. My job is complete as I was the one to incite the striking of the match. I have nothing left offer, nothing left to steal, nothing left to violate, no advice to be heard, no lessons in the agenda and far be it, another match. I have no time left to recover what I have “lost”. Monetary? Yeah right.. heart, soul and whatever got shoved under the calluses. We incrementally suppress what we’ve found destructive or emotionally distressing. Incapable of empathy, strong emotions… just rage, for only then heard. Recognition of achievements more un-noticed than presence, realizing, well.. probably should have passed just on completing them. Splattered patterns are assigned meaning by those who do just that. The question of continuance is always the thought that remains after the rest are truncated but, that query’s never null. Most live in the blacks and grays. I would only change one thing.
JGC