August 7th, 2015

Shaman - Horse

Poem - A Child is Dead

A policeman shot a young man here in my hometown. The officer claimed self defense. Both the officer and the victim were white. This tragedy was marked with irony when the father asked why his son’s death did not trigger the same outrage as when black youths were killed by policemen. In my mind, a father’s impudent rage accounts this gap in societal awareness. The poem “A Child is Dead” is an exploration of this rage.


A Child is Dead
Poem for Day 219 – 20150807

A child is dead,
the world should burn.
Tear down the mountains,
fill in the valleys,
turn back the sun,
my heart is numb.

A life is gone,
the sky should cry.
Wash away the land,
erase all the signs,
forty days and nights,
to match my tears.

Vengeance come here,
blood for blood the price.
Bodies piled high,
each more guilty than the last,
stacked like cordwood,
a wall around my soul.

The child was mine,
precious treasure left the world.
I would stand in world ruined,
sky fallen and land drowned,
vengeance gained from shore to shore,
if only this could bring them back.

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

Poem - Inner Child

The poem “Inner Child” is about an adult’s acknowledgement of a missing piece, the joy of their inner child. The story has a happy ending, but this is not always the case. Adulting is tough, and the walking dead are those who lose touch with childlike delights.


Inner Child
Bonus Poem for Day 219 – 20150807

There was a child deep inside,
companion to the grown adult,
remnant of the one I used to be.

Source of joyful curiosity,
playful scamp flirting with life's full,
the young one's smile knows no shame.
It was natural to embrace
this one I used to be until
adulting took hold of me.

The toys tripped my purposeful feet,
the noise makers distracted me,
so I asked the child to please leave.
They did not go willingly,
I demanded my space from frivolity,
excusing the child as I walked away.

Now I am alone in this place,
the child absent from my barren life,
landscape of gray as I adult on.
Reminders of the play I once had
ring hollow as the wheel turns on,
millstone of life's base cruelty.

When can I retrieve the sense of play?
How can I find the one lost to me?
Where have you gone my little one?
The trail is cold as my heart.
To follow is my sole mission,
to find my way back to myself.

I'll set a trap to catch the scamp,
stock it with dance and merriment,
frivolous pursuits of all kinds.
Open the door to invite him inside,
welcome the lost back to his home,
welcome the light back into my life.

Now there is a child deep inside,
much more than a companion,
fully integrated into who I am.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.