Wednesday, April 4, 2012


7) c) With a spear of doubt you poisoned me!
Bitter rut's of fear do now clout my sight
With blindness most akin to pools blight! Be
clean; those who receive water that flows not,
Accumulate a great wealth of slime: hot,
Like a quagmire that stagnates the mind,
Strikes souls, tires the imagination,
As a pool that reeks from unwholesome rinds.
Such fools that seek only to have fun times
Do become all crusted over with deep
Indifference, like tea that over steeps.
Yet wholesome water's that radiate life,
Give back what they took, and they have no strife.

                                                                           L'Eau, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2012

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