Friday, August 31, 2012

The Open Door

Whatever image we have of woman,
One can be sure, it is better than the image of man.
True can be said, perhaps, in conclusion
When speaking ofa woman's view rather than
That of a man; and both do find it good
To see in the image of the other what would
Bring them to peace in God,
Would help to give him praise, to laud
Out a song, a hymn of praise.
Allow me now to restate, rephrase
If you will the things that I have said thus far.
That man and woman are of one knit,
But yearn for each other as from star to star.
Thus in each other they find sweet relief,
Whether in love of body, or in soul they meet,
Whatever circumstance, though it be brief,
Their God, in passing, as though on a street!
And by such sight, the heart, united to wit,
Becomes a voice, a wave of sound
That is yet unheard except in a gentle frown,
In a smile returned, the blush that's found
In a moments notice, that makes one look down.
Though stars do stand so far apart,
They long, the one for the other's stead;
And looking so far to the other's heart
Eternal separation is what they do dread.
Then why O stars are you silent?
Why do you only shine your light?
Why are you so very defiant
In hate of God, hold onto spite?
Speak with your light, lest the light you shine
Becomes you with a dark from which you will pine.
Thus do I look up when woman passes me by,
To see her smile, it is then that I know why
Regardless of union, bodily or not,
This love one feels, experience,
Is truly human, and that it ought,
To lead me back, as does a fence,
To the gateway of the Shepard door.
Be that sight for me, O woman, O Star,
I do beseech thee, I do implore;
Lest I should wonder from afar,
Further still from where you and God are.
So be thou still in good humor, when bleak times come around,
Lest there be in you a demur, that takes what cannot be found
In the daily passage of our experience,
Lean not away from God's beauteous fence,
Traverse with me all the way on your side,
Walk with me, lest I be filled with vain pride,
Stay with me awhile, do not leave.
You are for me, and I for you,
The means by which we may believe
That God loves us, is to us true.
So woman, I, Man, do in love pursue
A mystery that is found in your frame,
But holds, to my delight, love anew,
The mystery of Gods very name.
And though I love you but from my heart,
My soul with yours enjoined to God's,
I know that this is but the start
Of gleaning love. My heart applauds
To see you walking down the path,
And in our wake, the aftermath,
Come many others, who search us out,
And will in time find, as we, all about
The one eternal God in three,
Be my example, and I will be for thee,
What I do beg of you through God.
Who sends a smile to me through yours,
Gives through you a loving nod,
This is what we seek, we are open doors.

                        The Open Door, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

The Perky Tornado

Through the town their goes up a cry
By which men do swear, and women do sigh,
For up in the clouds, hidden just out of sight
Are the rays of the sun, covered over by thy might.
And suddenly their comes a single drop of rain,
That patters, and patters, then a cascading refrain,
Then the wind howls, and all the earth answers,
Like an avalanche of off pitch cantors!
Combining elements brings forth new terrors,
Greater and stronger than man made fetters;
And such a beast that's loose in the windy breeze
Now slams to the ground, it's not meant to tease!
Opening up it's ghastly mouth,
It sucks up the air from north and from south,
From east to west it carries itself,
Ruining more than the earth or our health,
It stampedes across the winding brook,
And makes passerby who do flee now look...
Now its strange to think, that this great fiend,
One of natures greatest beauties, by all is frowned
Upon because of the great brawl of energy
That she brings to the site, a fallen tree
She may toss to the sky,
And others that see her do sweat, some do sigh,
For she measures the measure, and breaks it down,
She breaks the standards in this crummy old town.
Such is the woman I do know by heart,
Who cascades around at the very start.
Who leaves not a trace of herself behind,
Who pays no attention to others, no mind,
Cares not that she is who she is, not at all,
Loves who she is, and loves others, all.
Who is this lady who resembles natures beast,
This creature of beauty that God has released,
With firm affection do I applaud her stance,
Though some may think ill of her advance.
I hope that her path bring her close to those
Who can learn from her experience; I close
With a word of prayer for her,
To God I pray, of which I am sure
That he has blessed her beauty, Has blessed her work,
This boundless sea of generosity.
And may he protect her from jealousy,
And inspire others through this gift, this perk.

                           The Perky Tornado, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Comfort Zone

What is the mirror that it should reflect?
Hidden errors it cannot detect.
My frame, my body, it clearly defines,
But cannot see past those clearest cut lines.
What is a turn that allows me to see
Another side, potentiality?
Have I discovered what I sought to know?
Or does the turn obscure what once did show?
I turn my back on what I see in me,
I turn my back, and I look onto thee.
And though, like a mirror, I cannot find
Within you the answer I had in mind
Still there is a greater joy to put out
From my own self, to cast off, cast about
In an unknown sea, a turbulent wind;
Perhaps in you I will find in the end
The key to my questions, the answers three
To the problems I've found eternally
Probing my mind, and through it my heart's core,
My soul throbs to see thee, is longing for
The mystery you posses. Yet you go,
Disappear, like an evening star, do show
Yourself to me as if to tease me out,
Then vanish without a trace; and I pout
To have been led astray by your fleeting
Presence so dear. Now I do speak, I sing
Upon the high waves so far out upon
The ocean blue where I was by you so drawn;
In silence the wind responds to my call,
In silence the sea makes my ship it's thrall,
In silence I falter, my body breaks
Upon the mast, as the ship in high stakes
Crashes through the rocky ground. Gone adrift
Has my ship, with no chance that the sea lift
It from it's peril, its doom; sealing my own gloom.
Silence surrounds me as I crawl the deck,
As the ship sinks down, a pittance, a speck
In the vastness of the ocean, silence.
My one hope is the rock, my recompense
For my journey, a safe place to rest my
Head before I go on, before I do die.
Silence as I scramble the rail of wood,
Silence as I land on the rock, and blood
Does pour from my side with no end in sight,
Silence do I now see, there is no light.
Silence becomes my feelings more than touch,
But I long for the warmth of the world much
More than I ought to; for there is a world
Which your sight was the brilliant herald,
And does call out to me from beyond me,
In the depths I do fall, from my rock flee.
Silence now becomes my dread sight as well,
And suddenly silence becomes a hell.
For in my mind a scratching is heard, fierce
As the kind that is heard by rolling hearse,
The kind that creaks, and screams your name out loud;
Such silence has turned my sight all around!
Sinking into the blue, no more light seen
From the silver moon as it might have been
Had I been on land, by my mirror's side,
Silence becomes my taste; arrogant pride
Fumes forth from my body, possesses heart
To cry out in such anger that waves part
To see the vile sound spewing from my mouth;
And even as I return from the depth,
Regain the surface, breathe deep of the air,
Silence becomes my nostrils. In despair
I cry out, in silence my cry unheard
Shakes the sky now grown peaceful, like a sword
That rents in half a grown man is my voice,
Though silence becomes me, I still have choice.
But then you appear, you reach out your hand,
From the rock where I fell you now do stand,
And I who have fallen short of the task,
What should I choose? Well, need you even ask?

                    Comfort Zone, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

The Mexican

What do we do with Mexicans?
Nothing much, we put them in pens.
We ship them out, or do we ship them back?
Now that I think of it, a ship we lack!
But somehow, or another, they come, and they go.
But without them, we know, there'd be no flow.
A vibrant song goes forth from their lips,
It brings out the groove, the swing of the hips,
The women, or ladies, become all afire,
They satiate, in men, the love of desire.
Their hands make anew, what was thought to be old,
They make a party lively, when it seems most cold.
Their heart is in it, because you only live one life,
Yet they flee from their home, all full of strife.
For their sake, for their home, I pray to God,
To him I cry, and to Christ I do Laud,
For the sake of my friend, who has taught me to smile,
Whenever I see the sight of his profile.
For the sake of my friend, the passion he brought,
To the sound of a guitar, of which you ought
To play with life, with soul, with a beat!
For the sake of my friend, who accomplished this feat.
What little I know of him is his heart,
His homeland means much to him, that's a start.
More will come in time, when time has passed;
When more and more hearts are then amassed
For the cause of peace, love, fidelity,
Of hope in God, and the blessed maternity.
I speak these words to my friend, in time;
Hoping he understand the meaning of my rhyme.
May his hands be evermore limber, and fit,
Capable to swing a hammer, or use a pick,
May a song be always in his heart, his wit
Be full of good cheer, and his phrases slick,
Not for simple profit, nor for pleasing gain,
But that God's name be praised, for this refrain.
And through his profit, may his country be,
Through God safeguarded, eternally.

                    The Mexican, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

Monday, August 27, 2012

Wishful Thinking

O happy day that this should pass,
The aging body decays too fast.
Yet while our hearts remain at mass,
Our souls transport us all at last
Into the present, the love of God,
Out poured for us, our life, our laud.
Yet why should I begin to speak,
Should sing this praise upon your wall?
Should give this insight to the meek?
To one who is prone at night to fall?
Why should I speak these words of bliss?
These morsels of truth, hidden light.
Why give them here for you to miss?
Will you, in them, take delight?

No surety may you give me,
No certainty may I receive.
But hope in these I may free
Myself from thoughts which do deceive.
And so I leave you, heart and soul,
With words that give to God control,
Of every single word and thought,
A surety that all men, women, ought
To take seriously in time,
As certain as these words do rhyme.
And now I take my leave of you,
Dear friend, dear woman of God.
I wish you peace, be ever true,
Pray for me, poor man, this sod.
On this day you were given life.
As life begins within the mass,
May you be freed from temporal strife,
And radiate God's love, as glass.
Be to others as you should,
A light, a hope, a love that's good.
Now end I this discourse, this rant,
Return I now, for I am an ant...

Little does the mind now see,
It only hopes in eternity.
And from this hope springs peace and love,
A wellspring, a font, from heaven above.
I wish it to you, I truly do,
I pray you live, to Christ be true.
And if in time a man may woo your heart,
May open up his soul to thine,
May he and you, to God impart
A desire for his ardent love divine.

              Wishful Thinking (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Bending Lights

A beautiful smile, that's what I see,
But if I look bellow I spot a fee.
I see a flash, a white light ahead,
Does this mean to look upon you one is dead
Uncertain the head, uncertain the mind,
Yet sure is the heart, in your soul we find

The food we need to keep cheerful today;
Like a brilliant sunshine, a bright lit May.
Whatever sorrows, grief, or pains you may hide,
In the source of your beauty, love, you abide.
Though age do creep upon you,
As a small shoot, a child that grew,
No hate filled glance may blemish you,
For in your love you remain true.
And though you are gone from me,
And all others who once knew you well,
Never forgotten, forever will you be
Remembered upon the flash, that well
Of light that consumes our image,
That consummates our likeness with the passing time;
May such a likeness be remembered as sage,
Long after the end of this rhyme.

Thus when I do see a bright light ahead,
And I know that I do approach my homestead,
I'll hope to see thee once again my friend,
That thy magic work, the light that bends,
May wash upon me, preserve my likeness for a while,
That others may remember me as I was,
That I was friends with a beautiful smile,
And for no other reason than, because...

Bending Lights, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Planting Light

Before the dawn began to shine at noon
It shone at nine, did remove that gray gloom
That loomed over our fair city of gray,
And turned what once was cold into Spring May.
Well, as the day does rise and turn the tide
From darkness into brightness, far and wide,
So too does a word of encouragement
From before the time of maturity
Aid in the creation, as it is meant
To do in the event that it takes root;
And from such words comes forth a new green shoot
That takes in the sun, the brightened rays now
Shining down upon the gloomy old town.
And such a shoot is but a surety
That what shined before has had an effect,
And has helped to make what was imperfect
Into a new creation of God's own;
So too have your words for me now been shown,
Have lighted up the way that I now own,
Have helped to plant the seed from which I've grown...

           Planting Light, (c) Luke Bennette

Friday, August 17, 2012

Gaze Upon Me

You gaze upon that which cowers before your gaze,
and cower before that which holds his own in yours. 
In such a gaze you long to loose yourself, upon the isles of God, mysterious shores.
Such fantasy we all seek, succumb we each to the craze.
Yet treasures are hard to find when you hold on to illusions of what they should be.
Sift through the appearance and your treasure you will see...
Be still the heart, for it cannot see,
Be quiet the mind, for it cannot hear,
See with your heart, and hear with your mind, you will know your true love is near.
You'd never know its what you wanted because you aren't searching for it there;
and so you'll look right through the treasure, as if it were thin air.
So in the gaze you beg the question, what do you want from me?
Begging him to answer, that he will set you free.
Yet he will not see you, until you see yourself.
And when in time that comes, you are true, then comes a time of wealth.
And with that wealth untold,
that cavernous treasure hold,
you'll find yourself now bold,
your heart will not grow cold.
But who can see the heart? Hid behind those seven bars?
Who can check the art, the radiance of stars?
Indeed none can, yet it disappears all the same.
For they wield a shield of distrust, and use it as a frame.
This frame they hold before their eyes, that they may never see,
just how much they mean to the world, how much they color the sea.
Thus he who cleaves the shield of lies and hates deceit,
Made from poisons of the mouth, and carried out in feat,
He who brushes past those eyes of iron clad,
Who makes you see yourself, for he see's that you are sad,
He who triumphs over your gaze of fire, your wrath,
Who stands even still in the shades of the aftermath,
He shall woe your heart, and you shall answer well,
But would that you could let go your shield,
And be by God self healed,
Rather than wait for him, and risk loosing love for hell.
So dry your tears, and listen; act, and be revealed,
Allow your light to shine, let Christ in you be sealed.

And if, having done this, your heart is ill content,
Then pray that God find out where your man went.
He'll turn him round, upside down, frustrate his designs,
Until he, before you stands, his true love in you finds.
So come away my daffodil,
no more with this foul gaze,
Smile, laugh, and love God still,
let go of this foul haze.
For he who seeks for God himself
shall break the bonds that hold him,
Or she who seeks in God her wealth,
her cup flows to the brim,
And pouring out, it is like a shout, a man comes running from sin,
To be converted by God's call, the heart of his fair maiden to win.

The light is clearly there,
Though we cannot see it's ray,
Unlike the devils snare,
That blocks the light of day,
This beam of light becomes us,
Reveals us as we are,
Like an oncoming bus,
Or a man that's run from far.
But tempting God we sit down,
We wait behind our shield,
When truth be told, this town,
Is waiting by God to be healed.
His gaze is strong, his eyes piercing,
Perhaps that's why we run?
In sin have we neglected thee? Sing,
Often, and do not our God shun.

The gaze is built upon the past,
The past upon our thoughts,
The thoughts upon our yearnings,
And the yearnings from what we wrought.
Then build upon a firm made ground,
Your yearnings will turn solid, and true.
Your thoughts will be with God, sound,
And fast coming will be what God has for you.
For in that gaze you will not be abashed,
And so in neighbor will not be ashamed;
Many tire of looking, they do not last,
For in neighbor they have God profaned.

False expectations become a muddy stream,
A muddy stream without a rain,
Becomes a nightmare, not a dream.
And would that I had more stamina,
To speak the rest of this tale,
But I think you've got the gist of it,
To carry on; do not fail.
Use this catalyst for growth,
Now gaze upon yourself.
Look inside, and see what's wrong,
Let go of it, that you may acquire wealth.

Man and woman, yes, was how it was meant to be,
But each though each other better, from each other free.

Now answer this riddle,
With the sound of a fiddle,
The sound of my voice,
With the tone of your choice,
But know that I love you,
Know, I desire to be true,
Know I am the mouth of God,
In love of neighbor, I do him laud.
And so I gaze in sorrow,
Upon the woes of they,
Who know their sorrows to be great,
But will not seek to pray...

Now I'm done, done for now,
I quit my place upon the bow,
I stand back for you to see,
What marvels God has in thee.
Gaze upon them, and see them new,
Gaze upon him, give him his due.

                             Gaze Upon Me, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

The Pairing

Simple, a flair of ease,
Not to much if you please.
Yet give me what I need,
With all haste, with all speed.
A dash of pepper,
Mint also, if you will,
Grind up some fire,
So that her frame you may fill,
Shorten the hair,
For sake of appeal,
Then open the snare,
That this man you may heal.
Eyes must be brown,
Or are they black as the night?
The slightest of frowns,
That the strongest may fright.
Short, but not petite,
Tough, just a little sweet,
Upon seeing her he must gaulk,
His face eschewed in a twist,
And he, unable to talk,
Should understand in her the gist
Of what he see's,
Will bring him to his knees.
Now add some shortening,
Not of the food, but of the mind,
Be she not of intellect string,
But in her heart may he find
A strong will, a firm grip,
A loving gaze, and a steady lip;
The will to keep him in check,
The grip to keep him in respect,
The gaze to keep his own,
And the lip to stop his moan.
That just about does it,
And yet I can think of more,
Add a little spit,
And then see what's in store.
She's got a sad past,
But it's not bound to last,
Her current estate,
Has thrown off her fate,
And I can think of no better pair,
Than she and he, what better flare?
Now leave your glass ball,
Make what you can of this,
Do not these forestall,
Lest between them be no bliss.
And I from afar may watch with ease,
To see how he, and she, each other please.

                          The Pairing, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

Tuesday, August 14, 2012


Upon the westward shore there draws nigh
As stormy sea; and you I do espy.
Wherefore came you? From a misty spray?
Upon a whales back, the heat of the day
Bearing down upon me like a charging
Bull; one that lowers its head for a fight
When it see's the color red, it's delight,
Upon the backside of some wanton spring
That's just sprung up. Such a misty gale,
A turbulent force of peppermint scent,
And the evidence that there is a sale
On the market for the love that is bent
From your fiery brow, makes me step back.
Yet though I be overwhelmed by Gods grace,
I find myself walking forward, I place
One foot after the other, defiance
Runs a muck on a shore of  bitter taste
And causes me such shame, bitter disgrace!
I hear from behind, upon the eastward,
That shore from whence I came to this middle
Ground of bile, this place where love is a sword
To the lover, and a curse, like spittle
That's cast out of one's mouth from foul taste's bite,
A sound that crashes over my senses!
Of thunder and lightning! A great fright
Sweeps through my soul looking on her! Says
The voice inside me to turn around,
Lest she drag me into the sea,
Where I shall go to be, and not be found.
Here eyes are maiden's hue, of deepest blue,
Her lips are cherry red, a blood filled stew,
Her cheeks bespeak a pale lit sky at night,
Her forehead gleams, a star within, a flight
Of stairs that leads me to her hidden mind,
And all the while, that voice reminds me,
Calls out faintly, over the thrum of drums
That courses through my veins like a great tree
That feeds upon the sap within it's gums!
Her gaze holds me, and I walk in the deep,
Not upon the water, her gaze is steep,
And steeps me in a haze of godly scent;
Yet in my heart there appears a rent.

And suddenly the storm breaks forth,
And bitter cold comes from the north,
Her eyes become a blackened hole,
They dig deep pits down in my soul,
Her lips become a graven pit,
From which spews forth a crimson spit,
Her cheeks bespeak of hollow graves,
And in them lie her other slaves...

But there upon the eastward shore,
Behind me now, forevermore,
A light goes forth, enters the fray,
Corruption fights the light of day.
Alight with white, this gentle hue,
It fights back darkness, the stormy brew,
And as the tide pulls me under,
As though to cleave me asunder
With it's sharp crescent waves of foam,
A hand stretches out from behind,
Plucks me from beasts dreaded comb;
Now am I no more than a rind,
No more fit to live than a pig,
A barren tree without a fig.

Here I the sirens song,
And try to sing along,
But suddenly I wake,
And then my life would take,
Were it not for light itself
That nourishes my health,
I hear the screech inside my head,
And wish I were no more than dead.
Yet harken to that gentle touch,
That tells me I am more than such.
That beckons me eastward now,
As though a sailor on a bow,
And turning on the ground now damp,
From deaths hand, that icy clamp,
I see the sun rising from the deep,
And so I wake, no longer asleep. 

Guided by the light I walk,
Unbridled from the churning shock
That held me but an hour ago,
And now I walk, I run, I go!
But reaching for that golden light,
It rises up upon the height,
Obscured from view by the dreadful storm,
A sudden chill, and I am forlorn.
Behind me, once more, the sound,
And I know I'm lost, I've not been found.
Yet as the whale doth rise again,
The corrupt virgin on it's head,
The sound of caresses, foul fen,
The wishful thinking of a bed,
Even as this sound reaches out,
Another sound cascades about,
And seizing on this sound, this rope,
That falls from the cloudy sky,
I know that I can climb, can cope,
And turn my sorrows to joy, will fly.

Thus climbing higher, my eyes now set,
I hear a change, and begin to fret.
But once more the light shines forth,
As I climb I take another breath.

And though the creature climb after me,
I am already higher, am already free.
Reaching the clouds I make to grasp,
The firmaments, God's door clasp.
Then grasping at the door I gasp,
For the rope has fell, as has the asp.
I look into the sky and see,
A light so bright, gentility. 
Here eyes are pure, and innocent,
Her lips are sure, great merriment
Upon her cheeks, a thousand stars
Her forehead holds, the cure of Ars
Stands near, and throws to me a line,
A beautiful strand such as the Rhine.

Upon the skyward cloud I gave a sign
Of my servility towards my mother,
Was given a cape of souls that did shine
With many a sister, and brother.
I asked her who these may be, these threads, these
Woven strands within my cape, these bobble
Heads that adorn the cloth? And upon my knees
I begged her tell me! And I did topple
From the sky with her words following fast,
That for these souls I should pray, and fast.
And for a moment, the glory of of God,
Became present, and him I did laud,
Even as I fell on icy winds back
To the Earth where I dwell, this old haystack.

Thus I opened my eyes, the vision gone;
But in my hands held fast a golden strand.
And though in time mankind doth fade and wan,
Like a moon that's shaken from sun lit stand,
I know at last that the shaking hand fails
To win the end game, and like day it pales.   

             Visionary, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Measured by Measure

The measure is broken;
It cannot now speak.
And by this same token,
We've lost what we seek.

I've lived a life of sorrow,
Of pain and self deceit,
I've always wanted tomorrow
To give me finest wheat...

But the trials and tribulations,
That came in with the tide,
All these simple aggravations,
I can't surrender pride!

And what is the measure now?
I can't see my own way.
Where do I go and how?
And why can't I stay?

There's nowhere to go, nowhere to run,
I think I'm broken down.
By my own self I am undone!
Left alone inside this town.

Why can't like be a measuring glass?
Clear, simple, and sweet!
Yet life is like a mountain pass,
Wherein the rocks do meet.
You turn around, go upside down,
And falter on the path.
Your smile turns into a frown,
And you cannot add the math.

Complication comes again,
And ruins your pretty day.
Clouds do form and blot the sun,
In pretty sunlit May.
My easy way, my clear cut path,
Amid the torrents of the stream,
Have become for me a broken raft,
And does only I demean.
Yet had I seen the narrow straight,
The one that twists and turns,
And not contemplated my hate,
Given in to what man yearns,
I'd never have been measured by
The measurements I did so try,
Now judged by my own measurement,
I've found myself trapped in this tent,
And now the cloud comes thundering,
To take me away, a bolt of lightening.

Why could my measurement not work?
Was it due to some preexisting being?
My life did many people Irk,
And of me they now sing--
O sing the tune of he who lies
Within the grave of mud therein.
In measurement he now replies,
That he did turn measure to sin.

                             Measured by Measure, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

In Sight I Heard what in Song I Saw

Without the slightest, faintest, clue of sight,
That is to say I cannot see what I
Might if I had eyes to see with, I slight
Away all prejudice with but a sigh,
And so I hear in your voice that draws nigh
A gentle soul I could not so espy
Were I to see it in the bright light of
Day; for I, a man, am blind in the heart
When I say that I see your Christ like Love,
When I say that I know what you impart.
And in the darkness you appear as bright,
A keen lit blade of some fairy sprite bid
To shatter the thought that is made from sight;
And sound out from the depths, where there is hid
A wave of melodies, a vastness sweet,
A single note wherein I may meet my
God in my neighbor, my Lord in the street,
As I met in you; and you were so sly
To take on humility by which you
May die to self. Yet understand by this
Metaphor, do not mistake it's meaning.
For you sound out your sight by such a bliss
As the voice which you do employ, and sing
In sight and sound of you a woman true.
Thus by the contradiction, the closing
Of mine eyelids, did I see you at last;
A light shining in the darkness, a being
Vast as the empty space wherein I am cast. 
And upon the shutting of mine ears heard
I a melody in your looks that has stirred
The depths of my being with a song of
Praise, the everlasting word from above.

                In Sight I Heard what In Song I Saw (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012

Friday, August 10, 2012

The Other Net

Silent is the grave, but loud are the depths
Wherein one dives; it is full of bereft.
Soft is the thrum that wakens the body,
A shaft of light that colors the eyes, sea
Of water that ripples too and fro, tree
Of life that beckons; and we who know, we
Who walk towards it without a thought for
Those who wade behind, we who walk the shore,
We who pay no mind to those that struggle
Within the stormy depths of the ocean,
Who may reach out with but a hand, do shun
Our brothers and sisters without a thought,
Are undone by our illusions, are caught
By the net of deceit. For apart from
The rest we shall be caught by another,
Whose hand has caressed us with rose made rum,
And laughter; one that bears the light under
A mask of fools gold... 

               The other Net, (c) Luke Bennette, July 2012