Knot To Be Poet Tree 1

Knock, Knock - knots upon time
Tick Tocks waning waxing
Tumultuous tidal rip waves
That bark amid moon cycles
Phasing weather into leather.

Seeds rooted into Earth’s womb
Break ground’s umbilical nail bite
Sprout skyward truncating limbs
Prune knot, To Be paths severed
Knot, naught, knock temporal voids
Dye Poet Tree set within, be limitations.

Knock - knock upon broken glass dreams
That cannot be super glued pliable pasts
Hear yea the crash of thy wailing cry
Deep within thy forested heart breaking
What was knotted bears petrified wood scars.

Not Naught To Be, an stellar starlight astronaut
Never knot To Be a physicist, scientist, mathematician
But to feel the Draft of War take away the years
Wherein no tears, can make up for global warring.
Where growth rings will be stunted forever gone.
Leaving gapping void quagmire holes baring rhyme.

Knock, Knock, who am I, To Be in amputated dreams?
Why storm emotions, but do implant them deep inside
The self destruction that makes men hold that grieve
Do bury war wrath that ferments forth froth formations
That implode explode amid convulsion time ticking tombs.

Not To Be, echoes near, afar delusions of grandeur
Knot timbre Wayne movie star, nor country music Cash,
Knot Frost’s fork, Key West Cuban Hemingway writer.
Alas, the trunk stands alone, knotted in paths not to be.
Where in America, in God We must Trust Republicans.

Knotty pining pinging pulse, still seeps thy weep horizon.
One must seer over limitations of stenotype conformity
Rooted in compliance, one cannot break freedom constraints
When others will trump over US, with axes to grind timber
That humanity, like the environment, To Be expendable.

Knock, knots vibrate dye mirror of gorilla glue fissures
Reflections wrinkle amid rhyme flacking off dandruff leaves
Leaves of verse fall idle to compost what was, no more.
Anonymous I Be Anonymous I Stay amid bed sheet stains
Where amid  midnight moon verse, poets sail constellations
Like a magic carpet sheeting, herein lays miracle’s transponder,
To branch anew voyages, adrift thy whispered terse of time.

This could end now, but is not life this lifelong journey
Where we wander words that create the core of who we are.
My name will wilt away, as time should decompose ink stains
But yea, must branch out, upon your own unique Poet Tree.
Do not follow, but show me your branches blossoming forth.