Empty Casket’s Living Will
Walls wear worn with cobwebs clinging to life,
As cerebral stagnation feels a lone empty shell dwell.
Lost heartbeats missed timing of past’s robust youth,
Quick minded quagmire that drain life forces will power.
The mist of broken dreams upon tears that breaks hearts,
Faded memories haunted with evaporated torn fairy tales.
An empty casket’s living will, needing its guardian angels
In cemetery gray prayers wearing aging solitary confinement.
Listless blank words sway empty within lackluster composition,
Creative scatter’s writing blight wilts away in dream decompositions.
When poets compost alone their writer’s epitaph in blocks of mourning,
Grey matter mists decomposing rhythm of hopeless heart pulsations.
Yet, shock waves of inspirational defibrillation sets heartbeats in sync
To levitate hope that we can leave deep impressions in a poet’s lifetime.
That will be recorded in recollections for posterity in pages of worth,
When a casket is opened to bring forth fresh air poetic tintinnabulation.
When tears flow alive to germinate seeds within the core of poetry
Bringing ripe images that bears the sweet fruit in the taste of poetry.
That depressed quill pure power inside living heartbeats of poetry,
Within morning poems of warmth that sails alive in what poetry is.
The wealth of the soul composing in those miracles that surround us
Into frames of minds, picturing words within brush stoked characters.
That at times we grow stagnant, but the gift of wordplay histrionics
Is this divine inspirational stage of elocution with pride that must shout.
That we fill in our ornate box of live with wild flowers
Speckled “To be” gems of poetic proud jewels,
Where the value of words bears
A heart’s motivating treasure.
That a casket’s dead end path,
Will not yet be taken,
For we have too many
Paths yet to explore
Using those special God’s gifts
Within our poetic blessed souls.
God, I was Terminated for Poetry.
My love of words will never be obscene.
But Scarlet Letter stains this poet with pain
That a Corporation can create a lifetime scar.
I cry inside words that have failed this poet.
But God, I know that You chose this path
Of trial and tribulations feeling this wrath,
Where I wail inside that PTSD coffin of suffocation.
David Lester Young (Franklin Doppelganger) 09/12 to 09/13/12 ©