My poetry is the embodiment
of the creator's fore knowledge of my existence.
My birth to my death are in each line
that I've laid down to lay with.

With a power my speech can not equal
my writings demand I "let there be."
Now, she's calling for me to sacrifice it
as Abraham was told to sacrifice his Seed.

Yet his requester provided a replacement
once loyalty was shown in the raised knife.
A trapped sacrifice to spare the son
from a blade raised to honor the All Mighty.

You know that I would give you anything
yet nothing has pulled my fingers away
from the plunging of blades into my eternity
with each completed writing's lifting away.

Where is my ram struggling in strong vegetation?
Where is your voice stating firmly
that I've done enough to show my heart
and that my lineage has been spared by mercy?

Inspiration tells me its receptive desires
so God must know my divine purpose in creation
is the reception of initiating penetrations
that conceives fillers of the gap between our separation.

An elegy echoes from a high place, toward ardent souls parading below.

Cascading sculptures are carried by failing effervescence…
Masses are laid anxious; by irrational passion to venerate the superior.

A culture unchallenged is tolerated in its precedence to death and questionable redemption.

Here the tradition is exposited:

It is said that by the touch of HIS ornament, that of his imitated form, will provide the requester of their plea.
In light of HIS agony and validated glory this belief was prescribed.

So it is that souls are driven.
HIS arms gilded, HIS face adorned.

But by a mad riot for this achievement we find no acuity for complacence.
A tremendous depth of perdition is much predestined.
Harsh and vital consequences cannot be halted in its continuance.

Inevitable fury fall with tears on feet wounded; screams of worship increase amongst hopeful delusions.
Blood remains as these intrepid helots pass.
Marching forward with their thinking misaligned and unreliable, debris of retreat no longer exists.

A disserted option must be initiated to avert disruptiveness and voluminous loss.

A journey most unhurried...
A guise of religiosity quite mordant …

Each breath constrained and succumbing, each fretting step prized.
Fortunate are the survivors, let prayers fill the dead.

Where is my lover cast of life
with proportions of the same
shades submitted with mix of pain
and the joys of common folk?

those colors set to waking life
nothing more and nothing less
shades of gray tempered throughout
with vibrancy that steals the breath
by embellishment of the details
from the smallest to those more large
each has their place for true romance
with the soul clearly sought

celebrating love through poetry
or a brush put to paint
both exact an honest note
showing nothing beyond myself
knowing life may ask too much
from the requester found within

no denial is asked in response
the full embrace in openness
my lover then made real
in scope of life then revealed
I ask no more than this
the full of life marked with a kiss.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190630.