Stung by Death

Now watch this passion, I, through your eyes;
Though some do love, and others despise
That which they see as portrayed to be
What is, as is. How is it that we
Can view such a thing as this display
And not affected be? We well may
Enjoy a good show, or a rough fight
By which we do know that the dark night
Has not yet come upon us like a thief,
Has not yet stolen our comic relief.
Then was the day bright and jubious,
Our Papa became Emeritus,
A new face did rise, though old in name;
For so all men do rise by old fame
Made new through histories game, this dance,
By fortune's blade is struck down fair chance.
So in our own day and age is seen
Anew what is, what always has been.
And so I thought that through such a veil
I'd understood better this woe, this tale.
And though I'll never have seen in full
This tale of how was redeemed my soul,
Such a viewing as this through your eyes
Has led me, my sins, to hate and despise
That which caused such a passion for He
Who died by crossing to death by a sea
Of torments and shouts, of spits and of blows;
Such a sight did cause in me many woes.
While many a man who did view such show
Commented on it, as if they did know
How better to portray such an event,
My heart was struck--by an arrow was rent.
Now ask yourself this, you who do know,
If you know better then why don't you go?
Why don't you leave, but rather you stay?
Only until the end, only so that you may
Ridicule what you have seen and heard
Through a veil, a mirror, another's word
Made evident through imagination,
Made real by an artistic devotion,
Why don't you respect this great mystery!?
By which you and I were kindly set free?
So many a man in aged wisdom
Did my thoughts mistake for a wanton
Youth, did misunderstand my passion
For foolishness born of ignorant bliss,
Did ignore my tears, did contrition miss.
What can they take from this if their thoughts
Prevent them from hearing? The snares have caught
Them by the ankles, yet they know not its
Thorny vines do sneak upon their wits.
As for me I'll take from this sad act
A notion of how my life is a lack.
And many a tear I'll shed from this pain,
The idea, what I've done, this refrain
Pounds me from the inside like a fist.
If you understand from me the gist
Of what is going on inside of my heart
You will know what can be known full in part
As truth made clear through a veiled art;
Thus by this viewing my life did start. 

                    Stung by Death, (c) Luke Bennette, March 2013