Thursday, January 3, 2013

Cleft in Two

A whistle in the soul, the steam flies out;
A heart full, yet not whole, wills the rout
Of the blackened and charred mind,
Love has beckoned the unbarred.
Confusion has made hard to find
The illusion that bade scared, mared,
Impaled and scourged heart and soul,
Inhaled ideas purged have made foul
The plans of God's and of his man;
For bans that plod around inside
Are products that are found, that fan
About the ducts of man's town. Pride
Becomes a veil behind which comes
Conundrums. Hail the ditch that looms
Underfoot to snatch you away;
Such soot will catch, your lungs at bay.
A Whistle warns you, you've gone far,
And steam harms; rue what you are!
A liar, a fiend, of deceit!
Brier that gleamed before defeat!
Such a brier is beautiful and pure,
One of desire that doth allure.
Heed me, turn around, now go back!
Avoid this rout, this wretched attack.
But to you be the choice, the plan.
What you see lends it's voice O man.
Be careful what you listen to;
Lest all full tomorrow you rue.

           Cleft in Two (c) Luke Bennette, January 2013

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