Spencer Zimmerman

Behold the beauty.
Problems have their purpose.
We've divided ourselves,
We've battled with disease,
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Blank pages with no writing
Blank faces with no lighting
Your time is now and you sit aloud amongst the chairs of chance
When every choice you make in your life is left in god’s hands
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I used to feel something in my chest
Now it feels empty; nothing is left
All of life connected; All a big test
As if a trial to see who can live the longest
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Do you see this?
Because I continue to stare
It seems we aren't grateful of presence
When strangers remain being strangers
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We're born fragmented
Crawling over space and time
The goal being wholeness
Lest we divide
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Bring the Pigs
And view the wave's crash
Entirely without malice
Ignorant as they did not know
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I tend to move in circles
Actions that can be hurtful
To have me change my way
What could I possibly say?
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To avoid being a common practice
Aversion of life as a maladaptive tactic
To accept who I am and stop deciding
I can't see the whole of me when I'm dividing
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Now, oh beautiful universe, I submit to you
And apologize for not doing so sooner
I feel an amazing comfort in the notion
That we will always be together weaved
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They say a weak thought is a wish
And that it will only diminish
To try is against do or do not
Only results of what we wrought
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The martyr is currently forgotten
The One who stood before the church!
Before we built our theoretic lives
Looking into the eyes
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Attempting to hone myself in everyway
The passing generation patiently waits
And as a young man I look to the future
To see what will eventually be reflection
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A psychic told me I am psychic
And oh, how I had liked it
Bring me up Scotty, but don’t put me down!
For I fear discomfort whenever it is around
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Direct reflection of expectations
Lost in the static of creating havens
Like knowing the self through others
Would lead me further from blunders
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Spiritually in-tune
With life as the fitting room
Making sure this instance is met
With the dearest of my sentiments
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Experience accompanies my side
As we trot through stages of life
And when fearful failures press
I draw from within a deep breath
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Reap what’s wrought; it’s all we’ve got
Taxed again when the rake sweeps the lot
A good parasite isn’t revealed to its host
It would never dare to declare or boast
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To triumph veritably without diminishing clarity
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Deception, lust, disgust
Hands riddled with cuffs
Conception, dust, mistrust
Mind plagued enough
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