Locks As Springboard Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

All spoken, all that's written, reorders letters, worded
from thought-chains, hopes love-smitten, links unexpected, herded,
to offer base from which one can explore what's seen, sensed, hidden,
what on the surface seem dream themes by intuitions bidden
as springboard for fresher dreams, nor lock, key, understanding.
Verse writes itself, wealth flowing through channels that, self-banding,
tune flow to glow when growing, from mind authentic, free,
'words flown away' are sowing fresh growth whose spread may be
encouraged when 'unknowing' spontaneously sets aside
all limits, inhibitions, so only truth abides.

Yet 'what is truth' said 'Pilot' when navigating down
life's stream to find safe-harbour from existential frown.
Beware tags 'free' 'choice' 'lock' and 'key' when cause/effect create a
sum from fifth dimension parts inventing something greater.
Beware pre-definitions too static, stop-gap phrases,
when life spurns pre-conditions on acts which merge in phase
with unknown source clock's ticking through wish list, pleasant present,
aghast past obsolescent considered future present.

These rhymes could reel for ever, and never bore, appear,
more easy as spiel clever embraces far and near
words rich which thought they'd never contiguous links sincere
entertain in an endeavour to share choice voice, fly free.
Yet what is choice, what freedom, where blocks today provide
tomorrow's latchkey's springing from lock to 'open wide',
mind sets contain their innate linguistic frames which drive
subconscious thoughts down alleyways that channel all alive
through pre-ordained pipes, organs, whose treble, base and alto
may somersault from A to Z, then flip a double salto.

Life's causal links their their [s][h]own track, coincidence encounters 'forwards' 'back'
as state within which quantum loop can catalyze both blossom, droop,
and karmic consciousness per se can seldom find a space to say
'Eureka! ' ere it hits the sack, brought down by Time horizon flack.

Draw 'sense' from lifetime's spinning hoop as Pelican may fishes scoop
from karmic sea along the way from birth to berth's reeled roundelay
is in itself achievement which too few attain as - poor or rich -
each tries to analyze chance stitch that links thoughtchain as ride we hitch
along life's Go game thrust attack with scarce the space for grace or snack
as on we race, trace pace which feeds upon itself yet nowhere leads
till, under strain of final bend, train loses track of aim and end.