The ruined wheel sadly turns
single minded in its reserve
to cross a land few explore
lest the taint take a life
when existence is enough
to **** a soul without a trial
the evidence is long assumed
against the doom of certitude

too long grown from the spores
cast to ground by ignorance
growing long by circumstance
that nothing else shares this grace
fear compounded with the dread
only found in sacred books
when denial is the norm
of existence beyond the fold

still the circle must roll around
seeking peace from the crowd
even while the trumpets warn
of the gloom that could befall
those very few that are cursed
to sustain lest they expire
this journey of the ruined wheel
with many miles yet to turn.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190710.

Another day to exist
perched on the lip of consequence
while caring is cast aside
against the cast of roaring tides

the brave face is roundly worn
this double entendre speaks aloud
of fortitude that seems present
tires of wishing so much less

with corners lost in response
from erosion of the mind
the sanity that seems steady
demands a peace beyond the grave

perhaps the storm asks too much
another turn from dark to dark
the sleep outside repeated days
is the time sadly faced.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190709.

I’m reluctant to dance with the one
join in embrace on the floor
cut the rug for the sake of fun
when an urge says ‘stay away’
even while there’s no cause
to avoid the replica

reflection seen in mirror’s face
judged alike by twist of chance
so much more where I am less
the fair arrangement becomes the dread
when comparison states the gap
between the beauty and the lack

example of the greatest fool
thinking fate has latitude
to bend expression on its head
only angst is finally felt
illustrating a jealous streak
pen put to flesh in sad belief

this diagram of what should be
outside the base reality
beauty of the desired frame
now avoided with dancer’s grace
when connection is denied
a cage of flesh is then implied.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190708.

The trinkets tied to memories
collections without pertinence
haunt my dreams in misery
insisting paths I dare not take

leading to the traps of lore
with a focus on lost debris
with only value to the one
desiring more than present draws

these echoes of lost history
consume attention in the sleep
this is an echo of waking hours
exclaiming loudly in danger’s place

while the present asks to be
the past consumes all relevance
as the warnings are broadcast
from the realms of troubled sleep.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190707.

Some may ask if I’m taking space
from the ones that best reflect
what it is to be recognized
with a validity set for sacred gaze
identity defined by the bounds
clearly broken by their narrative

an extreme that none contest
when presented to the whole
these avatars set to illustrate
permission given to claim a prize
while the rest are declared
defective by cold comparison

pretenders to the holy crown
desiring glory not their own
this is the cry from the ones
promoting pride in the extreme
paragons of the standard’s mark
illustrating the desired height

tend the gate through which all pass
before identity is applied
lest the dialogue of the whole
be distracted from the flow
of the deserved hoist above
this lost soul not confirmed.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190706.

I dreamt of dresses hung on racks
arrayed with skirts and separate tops
each with a promise beyond the shelf
expressing dreams flushed from hearts

shedding rainbows in their wake
the color range began with red
a favorite tint to my appraising eye
to be worn in raiment's flight

then there’s violet at the far end
framing all that lays between
denoting fashions that await
presentation on my staid frame

this was the realm behind closed eyes
a fantasy to be awoke
reality would be so bless
if in waking life these are impressed.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190705.

This imperfect mirror of other eyes
conveyed by actions and of words
presenting hints of identity
sent to those outside of me

these reflections of the source
offer hints unto themselves
that relevance may be found
beyond my own unseeing eye

with a blindness born of place
unable to see what life contrived
that sad assortment of good and bad
no longer knowing which die was cast

an arrange of a different sort
from the norm reflections cast
still I seek to meet their gaze
to see myself through telling sight.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190704.