Monday, April 2, 2012

Small Comforts

2) However much I try to move, my faint
Body, untouched in spirit,  I cannot;
Though I command with my mind and do paint
My body with sand, the hissing waters,
Odd mixtures of smell banding together
Such textures that my mind may stand once more
Firmly on the brink of this world. Dunce's, such
Wormy fiends that do sink into the mud
And are never seen again, without much
Become clever with the gift of small time;
Gifted with the lever of smell and rhymes
That do soak the ills of my head in small
Comforts, cloak the pain's that do rack my tall
Bodies frame, I still hope; time may I gain

                                                                      Small Comforts, (C) Luke Bennette

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