The Word

Haste.

A word
Once heard...

Herds of men
Are in haste
Forgiven. 

Yet forgiveness
Is not a right,
Can be a blight,
May be useless.

Think upon the dark,
Think upon the lark!
Think upon the mark,
Think upon, and hark!
Lest fear hold you back...

The color of red fills,
Reminds you of men. Kills
Once made by bloody hand!
All in vein, understand?
Yet you still search for him,
In a swamp and mire swim.

Can it be that forgiveness
Is what will fill man with bliss?
Vengeance is not what you think!
You stand upon ground, yet sink
Into the sand beneath you;
Ask for pardon sue for peace!
Else you shall not feel release...

Haste you now! He is near at hand!
He holds with his company true.
Did you ever see such a mad band
As which does now stand before you?
Yet observe well their faces, mark
How they treat him in the light; stark
Is the relief that you may see:
Strong is the truth, reality... 

Now is the moment to be on guard!
Strike him in all of his pomp and lard!
Yet know first what you do to this man;
Lest you should be hunted by the fan
Of rage that you boil inside his friends.
Men of hate, by hate, all meet their ends.
Feel the wind upon your cheek, its breeze,
Check your temper now if you do please!
That you may live your own life with ease.

A word once heard may not be overlooked.
It has become a part of your very
Own being, has latched on! Though you forsook
It when you met it you can not vary
From the revelation it did reveal;
Else time would be a thing by its own self.
What is anything without a man's seal
Of belief, his stamp of approval? Health
Depends on it, his removal from grace
May be made in haste without any thought...

But now the dark moves on at a pace,
Your enemy and friends start to race!
Hear far off, the morning lark begins
To sing! Think now of all the have been's,
Think of your friend slain in cold blood: let
Your enemy taste, as he did, mud.
Let him taste an unworthy defeat!
Let him feel from behind he is beat.
I wonder, at the edge of my seat...

With grace and ease you draw your bow;
Emissary of Apollo...
You fit it to your string and mark
Your enemy, this foolish lark;
But does he not sing with a tune?
Do you find him to be a loon?
He is, after all, still a man:
Still sings, still dreams, still cooks with pans.

Can a man be all evil?
If so can he live in peace?
Can a bad man with song fill
The soul with else but lard grease?
Is a man made from action
Or does his action make him?
As shadows, questions press in...

Now the herd of men make
Straight for you, and you take
Aim at their leader shrew!
But questions will still brew
Once you take that man down;
As you run from the trail town.  

The string taunts at last,
Your range has now peaked.
Break off your thought fast!
Or lose what you seek.
But still you are weak!

Two forces fight,
One light, one dark.
The string still tight
Though both do hark.

Now for it!
Now with ease!
Now despair...

Act now.
You sow.

Care...

                       The Word, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012