January 31st, 2016

Shaman - Horse

Poem - Flowers Near At Hand

Life can be a tormented mix of triumphs, failures, joys, and agonies. I attended a dance during which I met all of these. The dances I did were near ecstatic. Debilitating self-doubt removed from me from the free-form dancing. I felt distant from some people I very much wanted to connect with, and I had a delightful one-on-one encounter that was not expected. A truly mixed bag, positive on balance. The majority of the pain is connected to my inability / unwillingness to reach out to people. The rest is perhaps due to differences in age / social status / generations. Both of these are too much at times.


Flowers Near At Hand

Loneliness is the place,
part of God's greatest plan
for learning the consequence
of looking for another soul.
False trails are the start
when a life is measured wrong.
Survival is the detriment
to happiness in life's heartbeat.

Is it enough to be well known,
links of a life expressed
through artifacts of achievement
forgotten in swell of time?
Dust passes from the colors,
the clock's iron will imposed.
True life is beyond the gulf
that lays between our lives.

How do I become immune
to the pain of discovery,
losing parts of myself,
when I don't know what I seek?
To stumble becomes the norm,
moving beyond what could be.
Turning back is incomplete
when life to death is the path.

Glimpses of serenity
just beyond my hesitant grasp,
I'm too slow to grab the joy
when you appear in my life.
Do I seek what I could be
in the shade of fading day?
The night will come at the last
while I dream of flowers near at hand.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160131.