The Beatnik Poem by Akinwunmi Elijah

Early, her juvenile innocence danced
On the path of guilt,
Spurred on by the melodious sounds
Of an unseen flute
Playing from the deeps of her heart,
Soundlessly urging her onward.
And with great fervour, she danced, relentless,
Her steps rejoicing in youthfulness,
To the destruction once foretold,
And to the glorious cause she couldn't hold.
Hands labored to reconcile her
To the neglected path of grace
But they finished not their race.
Kill; yes, stop the sounds of the flute,
The echoing music remove from her deeps,
Then shall she gracefully dance
To our own songs.