Journey to Ixtlan

This past year has made me acutely aware of the breadth of suffering by groups of our society. From rape victims to racial persecution victims, there are many that I struggle to fully relate to. They are living in their own world, one that has struggles that others cannot imagine. I am in a very privileged class: white, male, older, affluent (enough). This does not mean that I don’t struggle. My world of depression is one I wouldn’t wish on anybody. Iit is a place that those not afflicted cannot begin to comprehend. The poem “20,000 Leagues” is about those who do struggle below life’s waterline. The depth of their conflict is at four leagues, but their journey is long and difficult, stretching across the oceans of personal despair.


Life at 20,000 Leagues
Poem for Day 029 - 20150130

Living at 20,000 leagues,
plumbing the depths of my humanity.
Pressure enough to break the mortal shell,
this is the place I call home.
You can’t understand me in this place,
a realm removed from your station.

Hiding at 20,000 leagues,
my face turned away, veiled from view.
The depths obscure me from you,
if only they would do the same for me.
I dare not look to who I am,
fun house mirror returns my gaze.

Pleading at 20,000 leagues,
please stop your wicked abuse of me.
I’ve done no wrong to you my fiend,
but yet you stalk me with mad glee.
I look to see the face of cruel hunter,
and I see my own looking back at me.

Bleeding at 20,000 leagues,
wounds inflected by you and by me.
Velvet gloves and barbed wire
bruise my body and break my flesh.
I may run, but I can’t hide,
I find myself and strike me down.

Crying at 20,000 leagues,
tears flow from reservoirs of deep sorrow.
Could I stop to cry, but I can’t
with so much sadness in my soul.
Wipe the woeful drops from my face,
so many more will take their place.

Raging at 20,000 leagues,
feel my anger strike at all I see.
The time for action has finally come
and I will surely get me some.
No mercy granted for fellow man,
you will pay for passion I have.

Lying at 20,000 leagues,
you ask how I am, I cannot say.
Saccharine lies you will receive,
artificial assurances of my sanity.
You’ll never get the truth from me,
wrapped in the safety of fallacy.

Dying at 20,000 leagues,
my journey over, reprieve received.
To pass away is my most cherished wish,
though those around me would question this.
I’ve gone too deep, too far from you,
and this is my way to end my misery.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.