Monday, April 16, 2012

Faulty Medication

Render me the strength of my youth in art,
That gentle imitation of what was. Part
Thoughts of being into equal portions,
Gently ensure that their proportions match
Each other in height: for thoughts do catch
Proper meaning's light when taught rehearsal.
Yet as I smile at a job well done and
Take with ease the very medicine that
I did make from thought's of mine own past hand,
I consider how strange I feel, like rats
That down food with greedy hands and then land,
Flat on the ground; poison, the generic brand.
For to more forward I sought to step back
Through past emotions had, the crack of doom.
Thus art becomes a mere routine to heal
The present with pasts late toxins made real.

                                                       Faulty Medication, (c) Luke Bennette, 2012

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