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

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