Thursday, June 6, 2013

The Rant

Clue me in to one small thing if you will.
I am watching and observing, and find
In you satisfaction, and do so fill
My heart with laughter and fair peace of mind
From you gimmicks and flounderings that I
Really wish to know why it is you try
So hard to be what everyone else sees,
Feel what everyone else in their hearts feel,
Taste at every remark what you should taste
As if some man marked you at every turn
And reported you for crimes; in such haste
You run about your day that I do burn,
And think it as odd. Yet you look at odds
With me, as if we were not friends, but foes.
I am your friend am I not? Peas in Pods,
Birds of Feather, Shoes and laces, what toes
Were ever seen apart from a foot that
You should think me but a fool, crass and fat,
Not worth your time and effort, a mere tool
To be used and thrown away when I start to drool
In public and make a scene unwanted?
Are you by public favor so hunted
That you cannot look on me but to peer
Past my shoulder at someone else more apt
To give you what you want, do you so fear
To be seen with me, are you so far wrapped
Up in your world of doings that you have
No satisfaction in all else that brave
Man is capable of? Does it make you
Comfortable to avoid my strong gaze,
Drooling though I may be and in one foul craze,
Do you think to avoid discomfort by
Closing your eyes to it though it be in
Your very heart and soul until you die.
Is this not the power of pride and sin,
That it should fear to look on another
And crave solitude eternal from one's
Sister, Mother, Father, or kind brother?
I stand here, awaiting your answer. Shun
Me not, for I am persistent as a
Widow whose need for the judge every day
Compelled her to act upon her base need;
And I upon your silence merely feed.

Maladies and Wounds

A malady is but a hurt made of warts and bruises,
But a wound is more of the soul.
And if a man by his will so chooses
He may hurt a man or a woman whole.
With a word he may lash the soul with ease,
So that the body remembers the pain.
But with violence, do whatever he please,
Physical abuse will the soul drain.
Thus we are completely whole, one and the same,
Body and soul we are through and through,
Yet some believe it otherwise, insane!
For they cannot believe that this is true
If they are to maintain their life of ease
And do whatever their desires please.

                      Maladies and Wounds, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2013

Saturday, June 1, 2013

Symptoms of a Madman

Describe for me your symptoms sir,
Lest I should not for you procure
A healing for your malady
And you should for some reason blame me.
My words are haltering I said,
I'm stuck inside my  little head.
My limbs are numb and in a haze
While eyes rove in an angry gaze.
My tongue tastes only bitterness,
While sweets are sweet but give no bliss
My ears hear no melodies
But only noise that makes me freeze.
I'm tired all around and whats more,
Other's company I do abhor!
Yet in the silence I beg for they
In whose company I become dull and gray,
And so my life appears black and white;
For in silence I hold my tongue in fear and fright
Lest what I say should be my death,
And so I hold at times my breath.
I know not what this plague may be,
But from time to time I cry mercy!
For in the depths of my heart comes  a stir
When working for others, and I hear a sure
Sound from the recess of my mind
That speaks softly. Gentle and kind
Is his voice, for it is a he I believe,
And to the point he drives. A reprieve
He gives by telling me of his love
For me, a sinner, and the sky above
Grows bright with a ray of hope,
While I am barely able to cope; 
For I, to tears am driven when
I hear him calling, and am stricken
Dumb with disbelieve and dismay
As if I were to dubious to say
There was any truth or faith in he
Who spoke from the heart and is dearest to me.
These are my symptoms if you must know.
Give me now the cure, and I will go.
But the doctor smiled at me with pleasant eyes,
T'was a smile enough to make me despise
His gentle frame and white gray beard;
For from his gaze my heart was seared.
He took in hand a small white ball,
And tossed it to me where I stood. Withal
Dumbfoundedness I caught it where
It landed in my hands most bare;
Yet I did not understand what he
Had done for his patient, had done for me.
If you care to know what you must do,
Look into the ball and ask what is true?
But if you are not prepared to see
The truth revealed by eternity,
Then best you give it back again
Lest truth should drive you to a fen.
My eyes stood stock still, I dared not look!
Yet the ball stood in my hands like a book,
And had I but an ounce of courage
I'd have eaten of truth as if it were porage.
But truth is more powerful than a bomb,
It's power strips us of more than flesh.
Truth is a power known to alarm,
And does not our hearts with pain enmesh.
But painfully we take the truth,
For we may not it bear at first.
We stand far off from it, aloof,
While yet we stand outside in thirst
As if from a desert we were traipsing in  
To discover sand pouring from the faucets.
For while we stew within our sin
Truth is forgot while we hide in closets.
Stop hiding in your head dear lad,
He said from somewhere in the haze,
Come back from thought, tis not so bad,
And I stared him down with such a gaze
That I did think he must surely die;
For that was how I felt, though I know not why.
Then holding his gaze in mine,
Or was it the other way around?
I took the plunge, the leap of faith,
And craned my neck to look on down.
Now time and space are silent
As truth begins to speak from within,
And all one's energy is bent
Towards focusing the man within
On what is said to be the cure
To what causes pain and grief.

                      Symptoms of a Madman, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2013