January 6th, 2015

Shaman - Horse

Poem - Silent Pantomine

There are those who pass out of our lives by fate or choice. Perhaps they are deceased, or we are dead to them. The end is the same: images without voice, memories without connection.


Silent Pantomime
Poem for Day 006 – 20150106

Harken to my side,
my silent pantomime.
Time has stolen your voice
from my fading memories.
Was our time together,
oh so long ago,
a reality shared by both,
or just a fairy tale of mine?
You've passed away,
or perhaps I have,
but the end result is the same,
I cannot hear you voice
telling me you love me so.

The music plays on,
a dirge lay upon my heart,
as snapshots of images
accompany your silent verse.
Were you real pantomime?
I cannot tell now,
fevered memories left behind
as you gesture across time,
frenzied stills so sublime
against the backdrop of memories.
My silent pantomime.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
Shaman - Horse

Poem - Madman

A beautiful soul offered up the word choice of either the numbing torture of depression, death, or madness. Up reflection I realized that I had chosen madness as my outlet. A decade ago I was poised to write, but I felt I had nothing to offer but mutterings about madness. I’ve since regrouped, and allow my nuanced understanding of life to color my artistic output. The poem "Madman" is about this choice.


Madman
Bonus Poem for Day 006 – 20150106

Madman they call me,
though peaceful I may be.
There is a story behind this,
one of depression’s life choices

Choose one please,
my depression pleads.
Madness or death,
this is your choice.
Constant companion,
faithful enslaver,
you treat me well
with these offered flavors.

I think them uneven,
with death being life ceasing,
while madness nurtures
continued life dementia.
I think I'll choose
madness, waking insanity,
as the lesser of evils,
my sincere oppressor.

Madness will fuel my thoughts,
invoke my appetites,
and color my world
with vibrant lunacy.
Insane I may be,
and alive I still am.
Depression has made it so,
this companion of mine.

I'll drain the hurt
with art unreserved.
Turn outward
the pain felt within.
Words will flow
from measured psychosis
lessen the pressure,
embrace the distraction.

I've made my choice,
and here I stand
less of a victim,
and more of a madman.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.