Monday, April 2, 2012

Until Dusk

Well rested and fed I begin the day's work,
A small portion of dread within me still lurks
Unseen and unbidden to the front lines;
Like a spy to collect his fee for some
Unsavory task carried out in time.
Such is a hired man, he cannot be won
Through any means except payment promised.
But with fear akin to those that face dead,
I do fear this spy and will hide me, lest
He should upon his arrival take me
Instead of the rival agreed to be
By his hands, destroyed. For I employed
This man of death, and I cannot look for
Comfort in his eyes; true blue eyes of war
That do mix with the steel of swords sharp
And sing to you as music, through the harp
Of his mouth. Such soft deception. Yet I
Know his beauteous mold makes him so cold
As to kill a child, for the proper fee's.
So I hide myself away, by light of
Night and that of bright day; he makes oven's
Seem easy to stomach, their heat surely
Do not scorch as the beams of hate that do
Emanate from  behind the mask of love.
However much he appear endearing
To our cause, he will switch, for opposing laws
That do fill his purse with swifter pace, as
Horses that do race on their game apace.
Thus do I hide, and keep from hated dread
That still haunts me when I go to bed.

                                                                   Until Dusk, (C) Luke Bennette, March 2012

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