WIlt BE Free

Rode the winds of
rippling ripe rhyme
Sailing thy whispers
leaving wild words
Mid telepathic season
breeze renditions
Moving verse mid
wildflower bud dreams

Hallucinogenic tripping
RIP finger tip whorls
Prancing skeletal frames
window panes stains
Where WE mince mirror
past present future
Rolled together mincing
time warp distortions

What was,
what is then
beyond comprehension
Does regurgitate post
mortem birth recollection
Post stamp past dew
delivered wraith memories
Fade in,
then out focal distorted
point Be delusion

Come with thee and
go crazy glued
to dye cemented
Words scattered here
year yonder there
chill commeth
Ear sneezing achoo
ring sleeping refrain
churn rein alarm
Writing pin preaching
tracks pierce Mad
Hatter punch holes

Wonder full fill
whirling World of Oz
TAP reaching osmosis
Skeleton scarecrow
PoeCreation RIP
shivers thee timbers
To compost bare bottom
desert desolate transversal,
mass
Knead wasteland Avast
morgue of grave tomorrows,
pass

GOD,
can thee go backwards
around bound
thorn trepidation
Pinpricks BE bleeding
thy in sole insight
deadbeat consternation
One foot forward,
another back splitting
spurn scorn termination
But frontward Knight
mare cleats drag thy
but on ‘n onward

Weakling Free Byrd
society caged impotent,
unable to deliver
Dead poet
postal office enclosure,
box exposing bard’s failure
Chariton pip squeak,
bleak insoluble dissolution,
make up mask
Fear solemn soaked follower,
to never come,
to lead humanity

Give up,
no use in trying,
thy mind weathers fail
allure rein moods
Drip drop tick tock,
a round a clock,
repeat repeating
echo echoes
Daily rut routine
hasp week to weak ending
RIP reverb Lit doldrums
Gravity do not pull up
Grandfather weight.
Oh hell,
here we go again

What Be seed unplanted,
where fertile soil await
future furrow hands
Poet dew burrow sprout
knead to PoeCreate Poet
Tree bud branches      
What if it dies,
it never sprouts,
or sprouts pin prick
worthless thorns
Deep well sigh,
at least you accomplished
something,
rather than nothing

Is “The End”,
the beginning of another poetic
page poem passage voyage
Seams with every breath,
we navigate life’s twain
depth current journey
Only thing is we start
with see shore line birth,
navigating upriver tourney
Where life forks us up,
‘n s~witch way to go,
no going back
final decision
Good Luck
this “WIlt BE Free”
The Twain End  

Reclaiming DD “David”
David Lester Young

WIlt BE Free

Rode the winds of rippling ripe rhyme
Sailing thy whispers leaving wild words
Mid telepathic season breeze renditions
Moving verse mid wildflower bud dreams

Hallucinogenic tripping RIP finger tip whorls
Prancing skeletal frames window panes stains
Where WE mince mirror past present future
Rolled together mincing time warp distortions

What was, what is then beyond comprehension
Does regurgitate post mortem birth recollection
Post stamp past dew delivered wraith memories
Fade in, then out focal distorted point Be delusion

Come with thee and go crazy glued to dye cemented
Words scattered here year yonder there chill commeth
Ear sneezing achoo ring sleeping refrain churn rein alarm
Writing pin preaching tracks pierce Mad Hatter punch holes

Wonder full fill whirling World of Oz TAP reaching osmosis
Skeleton scarecrow PoeCreation RIP shivers thee timbers
To compost bare bottom desert desolate transversal, mass
Knead wasteland Avast morgue of grave tomorrows, pass

GOD, can thee go backwards around bound thorn trepidation
Pinpricks BE bleeding thy in sole insight deadbeat consternation
One foot forward, another back splitting spurn scorn termination
But frontward Knight mare cleats drag thy but on ‘n onward

Weakling Free Byrd society caged impotent, unable to deliver
Dead poet postal office enclosure, box exposing bard’s failure
Chariton pip squeak, bleak insoluble dissolution, make up mask
Fear solemn soaked follower, to never come, to lead humanity

Give up, no use in trying, thy mind weathers fail allure rein moods
Drip drop tick tock, a round a clock, repeat repeating echo echoes
Daily rut routine hasp week to weak ending RIP reverb Lit doldrums
Gravity do not pull up Grandfather weight. Oh hell, here we go again

What Be seed unplanted, where fertile soil await future furrow hands
Poet dew burrow sprout knead to PoeCreate Poet Tree bud branches      
What if it dies, it never sprouts, or sprouts pin prick worthless thorns
Deep well sigh, at least you accomplished something, rather than nothing

Is “The End”, the beginning of another poetic page poem passage voyage
Seams with every breath, we navigate life’s twain depth current journey
Only thing is we start with see shore line birth, navigating upriver tourney
Where life forks us up, ‘n s~witch way to go, no going back final decision
Good Luck this “WIlt BE Free” The Twain End  

Reclaiming DD “David”
David Lester Young