Saturday, June 23, 2012


Decrypt, if you can, the fire from the water's hand;
When you have done so come and find me out on dry land,
That I too may share in the toils of your labor,
And drink my fill of the wine you did ferment. Orr
Is a precious thing, and I doubt you'll find it here
Amongst the petty lines, these springs of ink that run
With a sort of wobble to their gait, are outdone
By the powerful technological wizzard;
It 'would be like searching for gold in a blizzard,
Getting ice from a summer's day, walking through sure
Footed mountains without shoes! If only it were
Easy to decrypt the message in all of these
Things that we do wade through, these fictions in a world
That's quickly passing: a train we no sooner heard
Than saw it sprint away with our only chance. Do
You suppose that descriptions are a one shot deal
By which we may find heavens gate and make a steal
Through the Pearly Gates of the Utmost High? Maybe.
For we all decrypt our fate from the raging sea.

Decryptions, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

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