The concept of time is weird. One minute you're fifteen and you think you know what the world is all about, but it turns out you don't. The next minute you're nineteen and trying to figure out what the hell to do with your life and how to do this "adult" thing.

Song: This Charming Man by The Smiths

Autumn closes the door



As summer sighs itself asleep



Cloudy blankets cover a seasons work



And it sleeps long and deeply


And it's dreaming of winters harsh ways



Until spring creeps in one morning


Whispering in summers ear


Like a song bird wishing for dawn


'Awaken again, my friend. The kettle is on, and there is work to begin'

What is the concept of mortality?
To be loved? To be feared? To feel so passionately, when we know we are only to meet inevitable tragedy?

In the arms of a lover, we must ask ourselves these things.
What is the weight of mortality?
How much value is emotion to such fragile, time-sensitive creatures?
What is to be gained, or conversely lost in the game of life?

The terms of business are simple.
The rules of emotion are not.

The price tags on emotional attachment must be calculated.
What is the return policy on a kiss?
What is the punishment if it's stolen?

And how can he come to my doorstep
Seeking a refund of my battered, beaten heart,
Leaving it to rot in a plastic bag that tells me to "Have a Nice Day!"
That cheeky, yellow smile holds nothing for me now.

A defective product, is what he told me.
Take it back
I don't want it anymore.

I am lost. But is being lost such a horrible concept?
I am lost. There is no path in sight, but I am not stranded.
I am lost. Legs weighted with burden grow stronger with every step.
I am lost. At this point in life it is nice to loose your sense of direction.
I am lost. But is being lost such a horrible concept?

Ineffable:
The beauty of the night sky.
The stars fade in and out of our eyes
We laugh and hold hands, no concept of time.
Every shooting star I see
I wish for no end of the line
Between the night and us, I'm content to die

Brea-
Fru- -sts.
      -its
    .
        .
     .
    E
      K
      O
    M
     S

I was once...
...a pile...of leaves.

© 2014 J.S.P.

Age, a concept, we're doomed to portray,
to judge our virtues, which year is best,
We'll hang it and proclaim each doorway,
and **** it to hell, when the soul has to rest.

A distant shrill of
Grinding gears
Sends chills throughout
The twentieth century's
Siren song.

The suited men
With crooked smirks
File in line to be
The first to eat
From concrete ****.

They tear
And they tear
And they tear
Clawing at nature's green
Humming as droning bees
Waking birds from their falling trees
They will be the first to eat.

Stripped lies mother earth
In a ****** heap
The end will be digitized

I've begun to blink
My vision falling into place
I've begun to think
These vultures defiled ancient peace

How can I?
How can they?
How can we?

My newly
Formed
Vision
Walks in
The sight
The plane of life
Betrayed by
It's own creation.

Humans are the plague.

Evolution.
Adaptation.

Concepts which don't seem to apply to me.

Looking up, I can see the old moon
In the arms of the new one.

Here I stand, at the edge of my demise
Overlooking the city on this building,
To gaze at how the bustle of this metropolis
Begs for release.
I will be the first.
I stand on the edge of my demise,
Its crowds of people faltering between
Fate and struggle,
This city of revolution
Where blood has been spilled on its streets.
I overlook the hustling crowds and see,
Down below,
               The swinging lifestyles,
               Thieves and soothsayers on every corner,
               Talebearers and backstabbers along the sidewalks.
Standing at the edge of my demise,
I long for wings to fly away
Like a dove, harmless and at rest I would be.

Atop this elevated place,
The light of early morning shines along
These towers of terror.

As I lift my foot to step off the edge,
I notice a puddle next to me.
Staring into this small basin of identity,
It reveals what I have missed–––
I remember what I have missed in me.
My face is unlike the rest of those
Who populate this hustling city.