Answers Without Questions

I cannot be true to the person, I
Cannot be. In essence your frame cannot
Be understood by rhymes, words alone. Be
You some sort of vegetable? Are you
A strange Bunny? or a Bonny lass? A
Man cannot understand! what is woman?
True to my wit I have written this, true
To my promise to write out poems to
Those whose age goes up a year; and to those
Who are to celebrate with such friends who
Are dear to their hearts I will write bizarre
Poetry, or songs. What is poetry
That it should make such an impression, that
It should be so profound to the soul? It
Has but a rhythm and a jingle, has
No more meaning than is given it, no
Purpose other than to be read, to pose
In the place of the real deal, essence in
False advertising for that of which false
Speech is made for the sake of comfort! Speech,
All speeches, makes for a dull time, and all
Our hearts do long to escape from the hour
Spent in the company of one who spent
Entire years trying to speak true. I tire
Of speaking about a thing. For what of
Such a fine person that I address, such
A picture of love in a fair dress, a
Light in her eyes as she see's with the light
From God and of God that illumines from
The Depths of time itself all we see, the
Ever present mysterious shiver
Made so clear in the meeting of eyes, made
Apparent to me in this person sent
With the purpose of simply being with
What we know is our own being from God, what
Can be said by us? What said by us can
Fully articulate this fair beauty?

For though a standard may be said to be
What allows us to judge what we see,
This much I know to be very true;
That God is present in me, and in you.
Then happy heart, know of my prayers
When in time you hear the taunts of nay sayer's.
And offer a prayer for me as well...
Lest I should forgo heaven, and end in hell.
I bid you farewell now my old friend...
Until we meet, at some, at the end.
Or is it the beginning?

Answers Without Questions, (c) Luke Bennette, November 2012