Frail blades waving, soft in the wind
A triumph of Earth over Man
Strength from the weakest
Whose whispers are lost
In the tramping of conquering soles.
A tuft of grass springs from the pavement,
Alone between the cars.

I dreamt a dream last night
That I was brave
That I could ask the questions
That I need to know

But I am weak
And scared
Of losing what I have if
I push too hard

In my dream I had courage
But dreams must end
And this was but a dream

I am my hands and my feet
My arms and my legs
My torso and my spine
I am my eyes and my lips
My ears and my skin
I am my brain and
I am my heart
But who am I?

She hides behind a wall
Away from half her soul
Denying all that is
That isn’t right.
She paints in monosyllables.

An orb of fire hanging by a thread
From the heavens, straining towards the earth
Some comet frozen distant in the past,
A captive bound in time’s eternal dance.
Its partner ever spinning, spinning,
A silent counterpart to fire’s rage.
The sun sets in a pool of melted gold.

Art transcends the hold of truth
no longer slave to certitude
regarding what is meant to be
or what’s viewed in critique

some would say that it’s a lie
travesty in dogma’s eye
the misuse of divine gifts
truth revisited by the profane

stating what’s not meant to be
still the eye is quickly pleased
by the bending of the norm
redefined to sate our wants

understanding follows form
the muse is counselor to the blind
opening eyes by showing forms
existing only in fantasy

now the new reality
becomes the master in the end
roles are turned in pursuit
of salvation beyond belief

escaping bonds tied to fact
the latter altered to comply
truthfulness in craft’s tall tale
transforms fiction to verity.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180810.

Some are for a lifetime
Some last but a day
Some will leave for anger
Some will move away
And some will die and
Leave you only lonelier next day

Some are kind and gentle
While some are brash and bold
Each one irreplaceable:
A candle you may hold
Until it burns out
And leaves you cold

A rare few burn eternal,
And they’re magical as such,
But the search to try to find them
I have found hurts far too much.
So we live life lit by candles
That our frozen hands must clutch
Until they burn out
In a rush