When floating on down avenues of deep subconscious
remember to stare upwards for at least 10 minutes a day
and contemplate the life of a cloud;

To that transitory vapour,
project with your iris the world you wish to manifest
in passing minutes
towards that passing station-

internal vision dominates
the human mind speculates
and accommodates,
what it wants to see -

with each passing minute
with each wasted day

Life flashes before eyes
concrete and grass
lying down and getting lost
in a deep death that breeds
everything and nothing,
Dissipating contradictions in the sky.

I dream here
of right and wrong
the darkest worlds
and blessed life
moving forward
stuck in the now
wishing more
than what I have
letting go
too much of that
evil ways
I hope the best
for dear friends
hid enemies
a world lost
then realms gained
betrayal marked
loyal comrades
in fevered visions
chimera’s hope.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20171016.

Whitewashed fences mark
the division of shallow lines
of demarcation marring a bitter plain

Truth that too can be seen
as a balance with bruised knees
whispering prayers of bent supplication

Looking for a smile seen in clouds
of judgment and blurred hazes

The drum beats of life and echoes still,
in cracked addicted alleys of fairness
gone awry with a broken wheel
spinning on a loom of time

Native pains and naive indiscretions inexcusable, earth telling a compelling
tale if you can dig your hand in the dirt

Seeking through the mire for truth
and tales long since buried in the sands
of time, which whisk away history,
books burned with lies full of distaste

Imprinted on impressionable minds
like miscreant clones sprung
from fanatical factories

Indoctrinated with false education
and breeding still more hate, echoing,
listening to the heartstrings playing
a concerto of truth, an aria of sad realism

A beating of a drum
that has long since been silenced
by an oppressive, regressive hand

These times give me fear when courage
is what is needed most, post haste

Hate seems to be in such a fury
hurrying at a madman's pace.

There's abandonment in her eyes. The air before her is amiss.
Something has been ripped away from her.
Something beautiful is at risk of dying here.

Happy anniversary.

Can you believe
That it’s been a year?
I can still feel the first time,
Your hands danced on mine,
A soft presence, almost shy.
I could barely pay attention
To the film playing on television
Because there, right beside me,
A story was already unfolding,
One that was far more fascinating
Than any other mystery.

And it was.
Here we are, a year later,
The story continues to be
The most gruelling mystery
Of two people ceasing to be,
Of you & I never becoming we,
Instead, a strange, foreign word
To each other’s vocabulary.
I thought we both saw ourselves
In this picture perfect future:
Lying together on crumpled sheets,
Watching Sherlock on repeat,
Reading poetry and drinking coffee,
A state of being indescribably
Happy.

We were never meant to be that.
Only a manuscript tossed in the trash.
We loved too little, and bled too much,
Too proud to break the silence.
Too scared to end the sentence.
So let’s scrap the ending,
And go back to the beginning:

Happy anniversary.