Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Sundering Sense from Senses

Overcome by the senses, senseless I am;
I am hopelessly lost, yet hope for a tram.
My eyes are shot, they're shot full of smoke
From an angry fellow I did foolishly poke.
Now sore from a battle, I battle death's cape
That dogs me every where my feet trape.
Distant lights speak distantly of a bed,
Where I am bound; what is bound is my head.
A horn blares out in the silence, silently;
For I cannot hear while I'm here in a sea
Of darkness that darkens the dark I'm in.
Brought on by vice, the virtue of sin.
Rest you weary heart, but wearily though;
Woe unto you if you should find more woe. 

                     Sundering Sense from Senses, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012

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