The Conductor

It is said you can’t know someone

Unless you can walk in their shoes;

But some people want to tell me

How I should march in their steps.

Others may recognize my voice,

But don’t like what actually comes out;

Assuming a magisterial tone,

They are set on telling me my tale.

But am I or am I not myself?

How do I truly perceive me?

Who in fact is paying attention?

And am I really what they expect?

Neither bluster, bluff, nor empty show,

I am not dressed up in some sham;

Self-respecting and conscience free,

I am unique and different from all.

Even if I tried, I could never fool myself,

Nor be bound by another’s preconceptions.

I stride in my own road-worn sandals,

True Conductor of this immodest opus.

© 2026, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

There’s a Time (then)

There’s a time I listened to my parents
Thinking I’d learn to obey.

There’s a time I listened to my nanny
Thinking I’d learn to play.

There’s a time I listened to my pastor
Thinking I’d learn to sow.

There’s a time I listened to my teacher
Thinking I’d learn to know.

There’s a time I listened to my foreman
Thinking I’d learn to labor.

There’s a time I listened to my comrade
Thinking I’d learn to neighbor.

There’s a time I listened to my leader
Thinking I’d learn to heed.

Then came the time to listen to myself
I found that is all I need.

© 1973, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.