Journey to Ixtlan

The poem “Ruined Air” was inspired by a Tumblr posting. The original poster stated, “One of my best friends tried to commit one (suicide). And I have to tell you, from the other side it’s the most terrifying, scariest, saddest or heartbreaking thing in the world. One of the worst experience I’ve ever had. Now I feel stupid, cause I understand how hard it is for other people even if they’re not part of the closest family. ”


Ruined Air

It lingers in the ruined air
that atmosphere now lost to tears
raining down when the drips
are turned against the one that rants

the clouds once held the angst
considered pure without regard
for a world beyond the cell
a prison made by the self

when the coin is flipped around
the saddest turned to towards the self
a desire to end the pain
betrays the one who feels the same

where the vespers were thought pure
even though the end was near
an ally is then disgraced
when reality shows its hand

the deck was stacked the whole time
only showing some face-up
lulling the grieving one
to believe the game was set

until another flipped the rest
to show anguish that would result
assurance gone in that flash
now the ruin is present.

2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190218.

“Ending of Memories” was inspired by a Tumblr meme. The poem is NOT pro-suicide. The poem, and the associated meme, speaks to the ending of memories, the ending of possibilities. It is a reminder, and a plea, to acknowledge that an impacted life is cut short of what could be.


Ending of Memories

In mere seconds the world would change
with a choice made in the dark

framed by the strobing lights
red and blue in the night
sad beginning of the end
embarking in memorial

the journey cut short in step
by a hand that had enough
consider what will not be
the fixed end of the mysteries

revelations no longer made
concluding chapter to the book
the pen is left on the page
ink replaced by weeping rush

mixing past with the pain
blurring lines no longer seen
all the memories are enclosed
in the tomb submerged in tears

the only sound heard within
silence locked by actions past
a cold wind remains behind
echoing what came before

the world is changed in the death
the ending of memories.

2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180120.

The poem "What If I Where Hannah" was prompted by a meme that had the two panels: “I love you, Hannah” / “Why didn’t you say this to me when I was alive?”. This is associated with Clay and Hannah, characters in the controversial show "13 Reasons Why". This really struck me, because being alive happens on so many levels, as does its opposite states.


What If I Were Hannah

What if I were Hannah, now departed
gone to a place you shall not reach
she led the way to realms beyond
lay down the body followed by soul
turning both to face the Lord
one can hope, as prayers pour forth

where could we have talked when I lived
before the time of consequence
the stage was set so many times
with curtains drawn before the lights
though now they've closed after the cues
were ignored as darkness fell

who should have made the first move
before the gap was too large
once we were at fingertips
an easy length to make a move
now a universe is in between
the here to there, a hole’s span

why would you wait, tempt the fates
if words were there to be said
you must have seen them sparkle in my eyes
waiting for an invite from your own
now the screams do no good
volume muted when the thread is cut

when will the time come around
to repeat what should have been
ask the man dressed all in black
he'll tell you of better realms
where peace is felt beyond the pain
while speaking of the other side

how did this happen, only words remain
testimony on this side of the grave
I loved you Hannah most of all
we both stand mute in this place
knowing others face the same
on their side of the veil.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170510.

Trigger warning on suicide. A poetry competition asked, "creep me out you have to think outside the box / reality must not exist in this world". Suicide is "in this world", but not part of most people's reality. Its aftermath is also worse than most horror movies on the silver screen. "Dying's Fear" is on this chilling topic.


Dying's Fear

She asked me then to share a scare
something rotten to the core
this I pondered, then I spoke
to how I'd end my mortal coil

by the gun I could explode
the cranium that holds my thoughts
a large truck speeding past
could break apart the body's frame

pills and liquor beyond belief
would dim the lights when I fade
these are the beginning thoughts
the horrors wrought upon myself

even worse would come to pass
unhappiness upon the world
if I lived or if I died
the peace I seek could have a price

I could survive a crippled man
no longer able to walk around
or able to think the same thoughts
though this appeals if it were so

if I succeed the tears would flow
to drown a world already torn
heaping curses upon loved ones
struggling forward under the load

the true terror could wait beyond
an afterlife spent in hell
or turned around to try again
that time worse by six degrees

all these frights should scare my friend
a diatribe against life's ills
circling round to be much worse
than the cause, so says the world

I'll give you pause as I relate
true insanity beyond the pale
the true horror in my sad heart
is living here, not dying's fear.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170407.

“Near Stranger” is a poem written for the online competition with the challenge "what would you say to a STRANGER on their death bed?". TW!


Near Stranger

I lay beside the near stranger
In the darkest of the night
speaking words for him to hear
as death crept close in between
I hoped to stay his seeking hand
in a grip that could prevent
encroachment of the hooded one
eager to take what all will give.

"It is not your time my new friend
this beast will take you in the end
but it not need be this very day
please turn from him, this I pray"

In their eyes I saw the fear
the dread of living on the edge
when all of life is too much
the good in things far out weighed
what could I say to save this soul?
bid Reaper go on this chill night
that others wait for his call
not this stranger shivering in my arms.

"Hold on my friend, please frustrate
the leap to realms beyond this place
I know they call with deepest balm
this siren call beyond the veil"

I feared my words were hollow shells
cast into the deepest well
lost from sight as gloom progressed
surrounding us with ill intent
once more I rallied forth
not content to say no more
a last proclaim I would extoll
to break the curse taking hold.

"You are loved above all else
by God above and all your friends
turn back the end, this doom you seek
so you and I will meet the dawn"

I'll tell you this in last stanza
I don't know if I was heard
for in that moment the stranger fell
taken down by his own gun
I did not know him very well
but he and I were the same
the end took him as it did me
I was no more by the same shell.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170125.

The poem “If I Bought a Gun” is about the intersection of depression and suicide. It contemplates the obstacles we place in the way of the ultimate self-harm.


If I Bought a Gun

If I bought a gun
would it give me pause?
effort to find
cold metal in my grasp
meant to test
depression's reticence

how much labor
will turn me from a path?
one way journey
none wish me to travel
meant end it all
when life has lost its bloom

Would the end by slug
or truck be the same?
the later much quicker
than former said
a blissful nothing
to goodbye the day

is this path I plot
set by the devil?
corruption made
when the soul is weakest
permanent fix
for passing sad

can this be separation
from true love?
world turned off
when it should be on
answer found in the
dark of the other side

if I bought a gun
would it give me pause?
so much to do so
I can do nothing else
test the waters
that have no return.

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161017.

The poem "Enemies" is not about flesh and blood opponents, unless we count ourselves as unwilling allies. It is instead about the foes of the psyche, those troubled parts of ourselves that seek to undo what could be.


Enemies

It would be wrong to romanticize
the numbing ache that haunts my soul.
Still I must shine the light
on the fiends that seek my life.

These parasites do not deserve
anything more than eulogy
at their own departure realized
rather than the host on which they feed.

The thief is the constant mate
stealing joy at every chance.
What it does with the yield
is harmful to vitality.

Monster born of shadow dark,
festering in the mire of fear.
The truth will calm disquiet,
casting the glow to hearten me.

The demon seeks to rob the world
with whispers of false escapes.
The paths invited are dead ends
to a life meant to be lived.

Creature you are the very last,
devouring imp of totality.
No matter what the world may hope
you are the strongest of them all.

I pray I see myself to be
a child of God to banish these
enemies that haunt a mortal frame
and seek to damn a soul to Hell.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160427.

I struggle with deep (DEEP) anger issues that manifest in self-destructive depression. These thoughts came to mind after I read about domestic violence leading to homicides. While there are other elements (control issues, power issues, cultural issues, self-esteem issues), anger seems to be a component of people hurting each other. It is also a component of people hurting themselves, a very big component IMO. The poem “Anger” examines the connection between anger and the self-destructive actions of people experiencing suppressed anger.


Anger

Anger is as anger does,
festering deep in the soul
waiting to finally discharge
in response to life’s abuse.
Anger waits in shadows dark,
nursing wounds most have forgot.
This seems petty, but don't forget,
a wound as such will not mend.
Boundaries pushed once again,
invisible to many, felt by few,
until the emotions explode
blowing in or out in response.
The target differs for everyone,
the outcome same nonetheless.
Frustration strikes when all is lost,
short fuse of sanity run its course.

Mix into this trigger point
the toxic brew of despair and fear.
Nowhere to go, nothing to do,
the anger seeks the lowest path.
The loss of hope removes the guards
from a heart under siege.
The invasion flows through the holes,
anger springs in quick retort.
Fear is anger's sly partner,
making tender the soft target.
Anger rallies the troops to bear
against a world filled with dread.
This end result fills the soul,
Bounty reaped through years.
Two paths move forward from this place,
one to terror, one to pain.

The direction is the pivot point,
inward can be calamitous.
Destruction in a single place
may end the corporal circumstance.
The pain is the kindest one,
through therapy the angst is removed.
Though when the ill is transformed,
discomfort is the likely chord.
Terror is the meanest path,
anger projected either in or out.
It does not abate in these ways,
though inward the body may be slain.
Introspection harbors ills
when isolation is the home
for the heart and soul abused
by a world also confused.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160212.

Sexual orientation identity can be a divisive element in a person's life. Embedded in who they are, their relationship imperatives fight powerful elements of society. A person with an identity not supported by their societal group will find themselves in conflict with that group. The place of support becomes a battlefield. Faith meant to nurture becomes a weapon. This can be difficult for the strongest people. Typically the target of societal judgment must leave their original world, and sadly this may manifest in their taking their life when no other way is found.


Fight the World
Poem for Day 220 – 20150808

Did I wake up to fight the world?
Fresh with dreams of contrary things,
urges that scare my fellow man,
please why should this define who I am?
You say I made a decision,
led by an agent immoral.
You say he whispered in my ear,
tempting me to fight the world.

If only I could live my life,
love the ones I find most dear.
Follow the embedded imperative
that guides me into their arms.
Instead I hide in closet deep,
marooned on island foreign,
holding to the strictures you impose
based on your slice of the world.

I tell you now self chosen foes,
I have no desire to be your mark.
I only want to lead my life
free from your impassioned ways.
You strike out at a large target
and I find myself in your sights.
Dogma and power pull your leash
leading the attack to my throat.

The day of reckoning will come,
I will take matters into my hands.
To throw off the chains or take my life,
either way I will finally escape.
I will become your darkest enemy,
or become a newspaper column.
Is this what you want for me to do
in your vision of love for the world?

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.

I am very familiar with the idea of taking a vacation. For a long time it has been too comfortable a thought. The good news is that I'm not ready. Things to do, people to see. Current and future friends, connections to others as a whole, is the best medicine.


Vacation
Poem for Day 185 – 20150704

If I could go on vacation,
leave this mess behind,
go away for time time,
forever perhaps,
it would be a relief.

If I could go on vacation,
stray from my fate,
dodge my karmic burden,
life would be easier
because trials would be past.

I could go on vacation,
I'd write you a note
before I departed saying
I'd miss you bunches
and to continue on without me.

But here's the rub my friend,
I'm here to stay,
no vacation for me.
There's to much to celebrate,
to much of life to embrace.

Life's connections in multitude,
seen and unseen,
connect me to the wide world,
beckoning with a promise
I made to you and me.

And to all my future friends,
the ones I've yet to be,
vacation would rob me,
remove the special possibility
since I'd never meet you.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.