A rapt desire clouds the sight
obscuring sanity in response
with best intents put aside
for the wants deep inside

the source of angst is the *****
hidden in the breadth of time
only shown in privacy
in a shared audience

wishing more than life provides
the taint of lust won’t relent
still on the side of wrong
always ****** by the crowd

if only life was less cruel
to state a preference for abuse
this harsh rebut does not blunt
focus of the craving wants.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190621.

Another year has passed again
survival met with wishes pressed
in the sea of life’s span
present there to rise again
the currents wishing so much less
than existence bless to thrive

it’s not a given for these souls
to stay afloat among the waves
dark temptations aren't revealed
in the streams few may see
pulling victims into depths
with the hopes first to go

as the oxygen is removed
it’s just as likely a corpse will rise
break the surface to the surprise
of the crowd that gathers round
happy birthday becomes the prize
another year then survived

with intent to carry on
even while the odds seem stacked
congratulate the lucky one
as they plunge into the tidal crush
to flail about above the drag
waiting to cut the silver thread.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190620.

The celebration is for the ones
left behind when all is done
with glad knowing of the deeds
committed in the name of need

intentions set for vacant joy
the quick drug to be explored
passed around for all to use
there’s enough for full abuse

while the fix may seem enough
cacophony for guffaws
the end result is not enough
to lift the dead from their slump

recognition damns the souls
with sad statements made in jest
for a body meant for dust
when the decades run their course.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190619.

This is a work for the tome
it’s publication now foretold
in distant days beyond the now
holding scratchings frowned upon

collection made of muttered thoughts
each alone is not enough
to count as authoring to the ones
those arbiters of writer's charm

depending on a word count
this measure slams stanza’s breadth
crafted for a wry intent
now ****** against the yardstick

critics rally to critique
still I’ll pen another poem
the muse demands a sacrifice
a book waiting in future time.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190618.

The shadows will bury the dead
tossing a flower into the grave
joining desires without reprieve
to living alongside humanity

travels cut short by lack of a path
circling round back to the start
without regard for weariness
experienced in spades as consequence

now that the dream has expired
without a promise of living again
only a memory is left behind
now imagined as the greatest lie

darkness will bury what now remains
inter the doubts with all the pain
while the dawn rises in the east
damnation is granted six feet deep.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190617.

If I could manage surety
arrange the world against my dreams
the path now taken would be ignored
for safer climes on rosy shores
the inner compass did not agree
with directions of harmony

those decrees that stated goals
considered normal for the all
agreement is the Holy Grail
when signing on the bottom line
adherence granted to confirm
the confidence to belong

in return the way is shown
keeping all safe from harm
a guarantee to show the way
happiness behind the veil
security in stolid chains
a certitude I can’t concede

even if the final price
condemns a soul in aftermath
freedom asks for no less
faith is found in the self
surety now left behind
instead the dreams become my life.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190616.

The cookie cutter serves the whole
stating shapes and attitudes
functionality most embrace
at detriment of the least
this minority of number’s count
just as important as the rest

still they appear to be mangled bits
separate from the measured cuts
the molds align society
to responses without thought
automated to confirm
or attack out of concern

antibodies stamped from fear
masquerading as diligent
protectors of the factory
that false illusion of chemistry
these starting points in the sand
patterns engraved with certitude

they’re only blessed in calmest times
and not when the wind begins to blow
still the stalwarts hold the flanks
enveloped by the swirling breeze
the cookie cutter fails them then
past certitude now overwhelmed.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190615.