I met two Gods on the road
each was the same by their book
right down to the sandalled gear
shared across two thousand years
penned by men with intent
good and bad with in-between
to describe who I had met
the middle one was not there

perhaps they took a holiday
that middle-person of the three
vacationed in a different place
while the others showed their face
sadly this was not the case
to be lukewarm was taboo
there was this pair in the end
present in the sun’s hot glare

one bowed their head in response
with full knowledge of who I was
a courtesy I’ll not deny
given the trespass in my life
the whole of my desires
identity mixed into the same
mattered less than who I was
respectfulness for due grace

the other spit upon my feet
railed against imagined sins
with a story already set
lurid words seeing red
a cardboard cut-out became my role
as I stepped to one side
already knowing I was not the one
the target of tirade’s harm

each God of Heaven had their say
before they continued on their way
one with a nod to who I was
another sneered without love
I’m left to wonder who was there
lived beyond the scribbler's pen
the answer lays in human choice
deciding which to present.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190324.

I maintained that they had passed
by the virtue of time elapsed
with no reason tasked to explain
why the deceased was no more
six feet down or cast to winds
each is the same in the end
no longer present when I’m asked
where the bodies may reside

the angels cry in response
still my eyes are desert suns
never showing the slightest tear
when one expects from my loss
this is the word mourners use
instead I welcome truancy
twin orbs burn without remorse
for the sadness the void may bring

if only the photos would comply
with the need to be blind
to existence beyond this space
of the ones I state are gone
the departed are no more
passed away without regard
without admittance in my heart
of their love I’ve put aside.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190323

I'm staring up at the sky
from a hole six feet down
even while the rest assume
that I'm more than deceased
a harsh word that's still true
ideation has consumed
remnants of a loving life
now only found in living souls

return me to eternal rest
even while my life is hoaxed
sharing space with a world
then waiting for the dirt to fall
the shell resides while I weep
tears transparent on my skin
the drowning have a better chance
to survive beyond the flood

even while I sleep-walk
stagger upright for a time
evoking forms may confuse
when my desires finally fruit
if you chose to turn away
please put the marker on my grave
while I look up at the sky
just one last time as I pass.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190322.

We wear the masks to appease
appetites most would deny
borrowed from the unseen
then yelled from the rooftops

all too real except it’s not
imaginations running wild
denying more than what’s shared
while explaining mysteries

feeding rats inside of wheels
running circles without repeal
they’ll not know the finish line
even as the world is blessed

invoked inside cloistered shells
tendrils take what they may
bending wills that are contrite
when revelation comes at a price

shadows taken from the wall
ghosts of what came before
revenants desiring blood
from the souls born of stones

those labels worn without regard
the flesh dissolves in the end
leaving nothing more than masks
stating purpose without regrets.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190321.

The dose must be consumed
says the criminal to themselves
judged guilty by desires
if only in their questing mind

that gateway to the beyond
one teaspoon at a time
or the shot finding flesh
injection made without regret

a need to shift the world
a bubble pushed to the left
underneath clasping glass
seeking freedom few will have

offering promises that are kept
unlike the prison of the world
arms wrapped to the back
dungeon of the normative

if the masters realize
the fugist found another life
slipped beyond to secret paths
the medicine would be denied

the end result becomes a cloak
hiding transgression beneath the cloth
squirming with a fervent life
that the accused must surely hide.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190320.

If importance was the mark
the measure of a life's worth
I'll submit myself to the purge
elimination of life's scourge
judgment taints this riposte
spun by the self in response

decisions made are exiled
from the health of the mind
what came before is not enough
instead the lack is brought forth
declaring failure in the midst
of contributions gone to waste

the untidy remnants sadly wane
no longer needed by the elite
cast aside when the gods
ascribe their works from above
attempts to fly are then denied
interlopers are not allowed

to intrude without consent
in the realms of the divine
it’s the worth that states a gap
with importance as currency
now I’m the pauper in the end
declining life now bankrupt.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190319.

I'll take the uniform from the shelf
an image for the common crowd
one of many in the ranks
the same raiment is procured
from the closet in which I dwell
keeping step with the contracts

still the fit will suffice
if my true role is falsified
stating purpose with due resolve
with apparel on the frame
a disguise that few see through
when the pretense is pursued

this masquerade is portrayed
the desired set for the eye
spun from threads of fairy wings
just as real as mythic dreams
to lull the masses with the lie
keeping peace in rank and file.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190318.