Unfinished

If hurt and sorrow do blend in the day,
Without any reason or cause, I say
That the best way to discover their ray's
Beginning is to sit down and then pray.
For if you cannot commune with the heart
You shall be stuck and know not the start; so
Understand, my plan is your benefit!
Listen to my wisdom to hear of it.
First listen to the currents of the brook
That is in your heart, do go take a look;
And when you have returned come back to me
That you may report all that you have seen. Be
attentive to the sound it makes, unseen
The problem is, yet great as deepest lakes!

Now having joined my wisdom to your thought,
Keen me in to the sound unseen as ought
Men and women who discern their ways;
This is understanding, two know the ways
Better than one! Yet neither shall know in
Time the hidden meaning held in hearts bin
If held back by the one who's brook it is.
A doctor requires his patient's great trust,
If he is to help him, the patient must
Give over the secret of the brook's sound,
That the problem may be heard and then found.
So now with Knowledge may we continue
Our journey of understanding deep blue
Currents of wisdom; secrets of the wiz.

Now hearing the sound of the gentle brook,
Which you imparted me when you did look
Upon it's slothful sound, I have within
This little brook found the problem! The brim
Where it enters into the stream is caught
By the weight of a trap you did wrought in
The past mistakes and follies of the night;
Things done without consent, without love's light.
So my counsel to you is this, unblock
The hole; that it may whisper like a sock
That is deemed Holy, no more! Recognize
That the dreaded fen of brook feeds the flies
If it goes at the speed of a snail. Weeds
Spread thick upon the ridge of your brook.
Will you my counsel take? Most fearsome rook?

Your impious brow begins to quake, such
A look I have not seek since earth-shakes touch
Last spring, in May; when all of leaves did
Fall from the trees, the mud from the hills slid.
Such a sight suggests you will not heed my
Warning: anger kindled in the red sky
Of your Soul tells me to take my leave;
Lest my body you shall with your sword cleave.
Yet I cannot leave you in this dread state,
Can you not let go of the hate, your spate?
You may have been in pain long before now,
But why should you give in to be sin's sow?
When you did ask me for counsel I gave;
Now have piety, and be not a slave.

Raising your head high with sinister sneer
You begin to hide your hopes with such jeers
That never before have I heard in time;
Well, perhaps I have heard of them in rhymes.
Yet all of our work stands threatened in the
Storm of your unbridled rage; beckon Tulkas
To change your babbling brook to laughter!
Or as we here call him God. Hereafter
Know this at least; that I did try to save,
To secure, to release your soul: to pave
A yellow brick road in your wicked mind!
Now no spec of hope do I in you find...
But even as I turn to leave this place
I find fortuitous courage and grace. 

Though a man may shiver to think of his
Death, that it may come to him in the blink
Of an eye, he may find yet the great wiz
That made the storm has also made a chink
Within it; a norm among hurricanes
That do ravage the coast and Texas plains.
So now with the threat of death behind me
And the thought of defeat before me, I
Contemplate my life's works; as does the tree
Just before it falls to the ground in dry
Spells that sap from it all majestic being.
So do I consider as my life, and sing
Out a prayer to God, that fortitude
May be given to me as a prelude...

Preludes are but the moment, before storms
Do pass through in great wrath, as tornadoes
Swirling in the clouds are foretold by norms
Of shaded sky; the color of green. Woes
Are to come to those beneath it's beam
Of wind, dust the meal of he that's seen
In the onslaught of its great terror, ice
sleet and rain are but a few of the nice
Choices he has for drink! Yet even though
I am caught in an anvil of red fire
That gleams in the darkness of my present
Circumstance I cannot help myself, do
What I came to; to overcome the wire
That clogs your fen filled hearts brook was I sent!

......................

                                                              Unfinished, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2012