Poet's Trance- Poem by Lewis Dowell, III

Breezes from some delphic diva
Crossing beyond, anon some Brahmian bar,
Transient verses, terse at best,
Bellowing sounds across the shores once blessed,
When does the tranquil wind catch wind,
Of the plutonic diatribe of an ancient discordant vestige-

Breezes-
Those that call to my my mind
Another sublime origin, or origin unknown,
When brutish thrones zip then zap, but scan
Only as best they can, were it not pan
That devilish one cascading and plotting plans
Through an unclear unlinear year-

Breezes from a dreary seer
Grasping for the ways, or the days,
O' how does that Mountain talk and balk
When Caressed by the silken hand,
Echoes from the vernal years,
The hands decide the times
The hands that hold and bind,
Watch their simple symmetry
They're always unsound-