Thursday, October 18, 2012

Madness or Realist?

Will you not gaze upon this vise of art
That holds within it's forceps the greater
Part of mankind in a trance like state? Art
Thou not man enough to gaze upon sure
Truth as it is depicted by this paint
Of blue and gold interlaced with white? What
Taint could be upon it that causes faint
Hearted persons to fall away and shut
Their eyes before the door? to such a sight
As this dear mother who holds in her arms
A child so serene, a child with such charms
That he cannot help but be loved? A blight
Be upon you if you cannot dare to
Look upon so kindly a face as this
That was painted by my namesake! What yew
Hearts have you that you be so strong to miss
The point of your strength and not understand
What beauty is in these lines portrayed! Hand,
Marvel at this exquisiteness you could
Not trace with all your skill! Eyes, consider
Well the name that this form reveals, and would
Seek to reveal further proof in the sure
Places of the heart the reality
Of what I do here and now rightly see!
Mind, fathom this portrait if you can! For
What we are gazing upon is longing
For greater clarity not in the store
Of man's grasp for words, ideals that do sing
Imperfection, truth hidden behind her
Kindly eyes that do point to the child there
Upon her breast where he does rest his  head!
Can you not gaze upon such a kindly
Face as this that did rise upon a cross
In the heart when her dearest Son did, free
Of all human weakness or constraint, cross
The threshold of death for our very sake's?
Then if you cannot gaze what be you? New
Ideals that hold your swaying gaze, that mark
Out what I speak to be but a sham, shew
But the inconstant errors that are stark
With constant voices to bid them live; but
Such voices do die, and their ideals with
Them do find a grave. They rise in a shut
mind, one that needs fresh air but finds a whiff
Of the past in the graveyard of our own
Collective intellect and become sure
Of what was already proven false. Shown
Such things can you ever this picture
For what it truly is? Perhaps, but not
I, no, I shall not be the one to break
This trance that holds you to the fiery stake...
Shall I not then constrain you as you go
Lest you poison some other mind that know
Not the truth of this madness you do bear?
Nay, for in sooth I should succumb to its
Snare as well, and so my words would bits
Of truth but not all it's promise or grace.
I am then resolved to beg of God for
The grace he has given me to be sent
Into your heart fast as an arrow bent
For the kill of some mad man's life. No more
Can I do but be present to your sight
As an ever present reminder of
Your rejection, your obstinate delight
In refusing life, in refusing love!
So shall I entrust you to God, heaven's
Dove made present in our hearts and our souls.
Then perhaps you'll see, it is perhaps then
That you will surrender your eyes, control
Of your senses which are poorly used to
God who directs them in ways not abused
But in loving harmony with our frame!
Then the image of this picture you will name.

                   Madness or Realist? (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012

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