Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Without Wisdom

How to describe the dilemma of words,
For those prescribed as a solution were
Not in the vast and noisiest crowds heard;
Rather they were shunned by the terse of lip,
And caused great hate by their verse. Many quips
Were laid against them, and equally perplexed
Was I at their meaning so that the whole
Of the square rang out in so many dull
Phrases; like blunt swords on a battlefield!
And can their be no remedy for this?
Shall we forever misunderstand, kiss
In ignorance of the meaning of love?
For what are words but a kiss, a breath of
Life that forms my mouth as a breathing cave,
Out of which comes the misunderstood knave.

For they that are called so by opponents
Often bear the news, are the vanguard sent
To overcome the silence of the drums
That no longer beat upon our ears. Sum
Up for me in a word if you can, what
Is Meaning, and what is it's plan? Such care
Is given over to it's shape that words
Do wriggle about the nape, and heard
So many letters into the form of
Images that the mind may comprehend
But a few ideas, hidden in the truth.
So shall we glean as a fox in his den
The dilemma seen by the rooster's hen.
Yet even while he looks is it hidden.

Key me to the key that I may find what
It is that I do seek! For you alone have
What I desire, can alone give me that
Which I aspire to gain for myself!
Shall I crawl about in misery for all
The days of my life while you call me wretch?
Yet I should better understand thy hate
If you did but allow me to contemplate
The hidden meaning of the words within;
So now you do close yourself from me, sin
By the cloak of darkness that are you words!
Reveal nothing but empty hopes too
Wild in in fantasy; these but ropes sewn
About my waist to bind me fast. A loan

That which must be repaid in interest marks
But the desire's of a greedy lark;
For you sing with a song of mystery
And cause me to sing the same melody.
Yet I know not from whence it came to you,
And so know nothing, whether it is true.
The sounds of your song are intriguing, as
Water that falls down a steady stream, past
All telling and understanding that lasts.
Though as I sing the chant with you, cast my
Doors open wide to the beauteous song
I realize too late the evil, thy
Intent was feigned love, but hate all along!
Now by your words am I held with the throng.

Hearken to me you who do pass me by,
Unbind my hands, my arms, for I cry with
Tears of abuse; did so abuse the myth
Of yearning that I opened my true heart
To a walking peddler, a mere upstart
Searching for the finest goods in the land,
But always selling with a wicked mind.
A music box did he give with slick bands,
That when I touched reached out for my hands. Bound
Them fast to the truth they sung unto me,
And now as a thrall am I captive; be
A kind soul, a kindred spirit, set free
From the toll of naivety bitten
Hands of sorrow such as these; kind sir please!

                                                                      Without Wisdom, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2012

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