An Inscription

Searched the sea for a place to rest my head,
In vain it would seem, for now I am dead.
Searched the world for a home where I could dwell,
For I did oppose the lifestyle's of hell;
But I could not find a solid place there,
For the world kept spinning around in space,
And man spun with it, looking for a fare,
Had no clear image upon his sweet face.
A blur was the day, like stars near at hand,
Such was my plight that I could not see life;
Work I still to find a stronghold, demand
To rest my head where there is no great strife.
Thus did I come upon a strange building,
Upon a cross was a man, a killing
No doubt made by mankind in it's own wrath;
Such was I, killed by an emotion bath.
Coming near to the place I found that the blur
Gave way to a face: an inscription, most sure;
Made not of this world or the one bellow,
But made of light, for his face did then show
All the stars and the moon and the sun, as
The combination of constellations,
Greater than any universal gas
From wayward star's; and I was there undone
By that countenance, did there undertake
A new impression upon my dull wits,
As one is like to do when need for slake
From such great overwhelming blind eye fits.

                     An Inscription, (c) Luke Bennette, July 2012