Saturday, April 21, 2012


Tears still fresh upon my cheek,
I can hardly talk, can barely speak.
My mind is chalk full of memories,
That fill the mind with loving ease.
Hatred spews forth in loving care,
Though tears the source, unaware
Was I that in order to cry one had
But to give over his heart and be glad.
Yet the pains in the mind and heart
Do tend to weigh heavy, in part
Because of the pride that I do have
Causes me to wait until I am sad.
Then forth comes in torrents red,
A fount of water and a jet of blood;
A current that will leave me dead,
A portent to the dreaded flood.
For when touched as such I cannot
But take to the the streets, I am caught
In the throes of emotion, my words
Are scattered as African herds;
Have fallen from their form
That sweet and gentle norm;
As geese do fall out of their v
All because of a monstrosity
That they did in front of them see.
So cry because of reality.
So weep will I until the throes have passed,
Lest I get no other chance, time has passed.

                                                    Unimportant, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2012

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