The sense of then

Wind agitates the trees
like shaking sense, it seems
into the errant and unruly
aspects of divinity
growing from the core
for the sake of knowing more.

What more? What more?
‘tis air, that’s all
with ne’er a sign of energy
shape-shifting from a mystery
into the understandable
and reliable.

There are times and these are they
to forsake a man-made way
and branch out mindfully,
seriously or playfully,
into the ether of a dream
which holds the vision, see?

Paid pennies for the nonsense
now threefold for the sense
and poor, so poor, the common man
to not extend a hand
and drop more than thought before
into mind’s deep memory store.

More, more, yet still no fix
for life’s off-beat rhythms
but ne’er again the sense of then
should flow from poets’ pens!