Beats, Seats And Wits Of Your Reality Poem by John Sensele

Let mats and masts of the past die fast
Empower blasts of the present to last
Quit kidding beats, seats and wits of your reality can't grow vast

Despite turbulence in the environment
Decreeing you rejig development in which detriment
No longer features either as sentiment or condiment

As you mend your mind
Excising facets driving you blind
In front, in the middle and behind

Prompting efforts to break free
Of snares, stairs and lairs when your pedigree
Bursts forth, surges forward to the degree

Where you meditate
You cogitate, you gravitate
Towards your wellbeing as in haste hate

Fleas flee in defeat
Weeping and peeping at your feet
When your energy centres meet and tweet

Greeting a new era that heralds perfect peace
In your mind, in your routine with each decrease
In negativity, turbidity, rigidity, fragility and fake fleece

In a setting teeming with white light
Whose laser and tazer tantalize the plight
That for too long ate your delight

Locking up and stalking your progress
Addressing dresses and tresses of stress
Ascertaining rains, trains and strains of rat race

Pursue and sue your aura
Whether your poetic fora
Vaunt Andorra and Sonora

When dens and pens of power
Scribble and dribble the hour
That can't label rose a flower
Whose fragrance and preponderance no longer
Weaken your resolve as you grow stronger
To shame your perennial rumour-monger.