Dying Poet Tree

I - being you - was raised this fairytale magical seedling,

Well seeded smile within an American Magic Wonderland,

Raised to treasure ‘n admire, Camelot Mystical Knights,

Whose shiny armor, kid’s imagination came alive from.

Oh To Be, To Be a Knight riding a dynamic steed,

Prancing so proud, the Earth shakes, full of pride.

Fantastic feeling of paradise around table fables,

Under JFK Presidential desk, sensing Poet Tree verses.

Can you hear Frost inaugural, being bound, in who we are.

Who we, must become, as a Dallas gun volley takes one.

Who we, must Be cries, to carry on, Memphis bullet take two.

We who, ask not to strike three, hear a Los Angles take three.

Three strike fells the Poet Tree, Camelot, as an assassinated nation.

Throughout time, tornadic axes wield severity, in severed limb reality.

Wherein a Poet Tree weeps alone in wilted leaves - that fall, fall, fall.

Skeletal being, feeling Medusa frostbite’s stone, shatter heartache branches.

Rip the heart out, RIP apart shard pieces, so sharp, they nail,

Nail - in thunder bolts,

Wherein billion trillion pin pricks, blood vessels pour out –

Lightning strikes.

The electrocution Termination to kill the Poet Tree elocution

Home Sweet abode stand.

Not only did Camelot die,

But so did a grown child’s

Dying Poet Tree.

Create your March 4^th Poet Tree

dly  03/04/17