Tuesday, April 17, 2012


To break the door you must be it's author,
Must know the inner workings of it's being,
Rusty intellect will not help you, sing
Not to the past to reach your love; to her!
But heard you not my call as I had hoped,
My word was ignored in your flurry of
Hopeless strokes against my authorship; Love's
Once had in luminous lights become ropes.
Yet felt me in your heart as I walked by,
Knelt down upon the ground; and then you cried,
Let go of your anger, replaced with hope.
Your body begins to heave up and down,
I place upon your head the sorrows crown,
A smile through the tears tells me that you'll cope.

                                              Authorship, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2012

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