The right answer is happiness
said The Buddha long ago
this is not the present case
on this day of sadness' place
if the ‘I’ is fully removed
ego discarded for the good
then the wanting is put aside
what will be left in a mind?

Repose is portend there
commitments dropped from my back
promises made on ego's chit
finally disregarded at long last
if only this could be the way
life has attachment beyond longing
or is it the web that all construct
binding egos for humanity?

The wheel is turned by all souls
chained to duties at love's request
that task master of cruel repute
trading despair for loyalty
society must continue on
regardless of how I sort myself
to drop an 'I' or discard want
why must the outcome come to this?

If I could in love's firm grip
move beyond this ego's grasp
happiness would be my end
put down the wants of this life
lay my body to the grave
though most would disagree
dear Buddha why is this so
did you consider depression's toil?

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170808.

If you don't believe
that the world can turn
into a Hobbesian-state,
then find a wall
& stare at it until it hurts.
   You'll notice
        that the paint isn't dry
        & the picture will change
        with a single blink,
        fade with dry eyes
        & breathe when you want it to.
  You'll see a wall
  can be many things;
        It can move in a dream
        if you make it,
        or drape itself in mirrors
        & make you infinite,
        although trapped,
        staring at a wall
        & thinking of someone else,
        but only seeing yourself
        forever
        in every direction.

screaming
out for something
wanting it
as a child’s hands
in the air in an attempt
to reach the teddy bear

one is in London
their name grows
like a yellow flower
I want to smell
and touch with my brittle fingers
sleep in the creases
I could be a ghost
or an outline of a figure
with a blueish hum
an inaudible echo

they dance under
streetlamps I have not seen
and **** in the glow
of others of course
who are painted
in shades of utmost tranquility
assured in their abilities
I want to reach into their mouths
and heave it out from them
have it all for myself

I feel the water
slip out from me
as if a rusty sieve
and nobody is catching
the little hexagonal pools
in the palms of their hands

streets my feet should be on
but a riddle of issues
erupt from the page
bad acne teen
harsh black bullet points
sinking into my lungs

there’s anthologies to share
splash through my dreams
because you can
I tiptoe into tomorrow
with holes in socks
uncertainty my electricity
finger at the switch