DEEDS,DOPE AND YEARNING YOUTH IN THE '60'

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DEEDS,DOPE AND YEARNING YOUTH IN THE '60'

O, estranged embittered youth
Estray upon the Earth
For sooth,
Where have I failed you?

Time can not be blamed;
That space between us
Is more a wall of flame,
A membrane,
Through which ideas pass
Lame, and lack esteem.

Suffered I that same estival,
That painful visitor of youth,
To tell you now
With many summers' more avail,
This too will pass,
Given but you now know.

No physician's cure
Can help you endure
But the Guide can help.
Abide for it is more a journey
Than a malady.

Strange frustrations attend
When looking back
We see no tracks, nor shadows.

And fruits on limbs that bend
For there are many,
Make haste and leave
Appetites unrent.

Seeking, we take flight
On wings of smoke
And float
On blood veins of mysteries
Thinking that the veil
Just might be lifted or release obtained
On some other plain
With lust-pressed drives
Where love might walk despized
We toss our seed
In bellies of whores.

Or give ourselves
When we should pass, not enter,
Vacant rooms
Through easily opened doors.
To bachenalian hours or days.

Waves we call 'vibes' take on
A multi meaning size
And dominate the days
When all our senses
Could be tuned to other flowers
In our Spring.

Apollo's vaults beg us enter
Partake of the nectar of the wines,
The sweets their truth divines,
History with its tragedy and truth
Which can serve our youth,
A lamp upon a rocky shore.

Cannot those same senses,
Sparked by Prometheus and Bacchus,
Be set aflame
By cleansing light and
Sound as on Apollo's lyre?

That summer sickness surviving
Gives one no claim
To enter your World;
Yet, have I that call
To live
And not at all
Reach back to help you
In the whirl
Where disaster need but
A steady hand?

Manner might the weankess be
And I should direct the wind
And struggle not to shake the time
That fruits will fall
Where Time suffices
And fruits but await their call.

The flail reaps not;
I try the kiss,
The whip I feel amiss
And failing search my lot to
Review the answer I have not.

Facts remain and truth is cast
In immutable form
Only in ignorance is known
The pool of dark despair
That draws us down
And deserts us there.

A sea of changing worth
Of shifting sand that wraps us 'round
with smoothing breeze of worthless air.

Struggle to catch
Wisps of smoke in fishers' nets
We fail to snare
The real that passes in a glare
Our attention to be got
And to toss to the swine the pearls
We must have
To pass between these two worlds.

We desert
At a time most opportune
Wnen profits emanate in sprints
But full rivers flow
On capital of patience
And healths reassuring glow.

I do not know the answer
Nor do I want to abandon
The thought
That we can transfer
Lessons learned;
Then, when I think youth cannot
I see what once I held
As wasted survive
A gauntlet thrown
And meld to life.

With torn bruised and broken heart
I bleed
Walking, pushing against
A cycle that has no end.

Lloyd Winburn 1968