Lidded Eyes

10) Can it be that I am still alive on the shore?
For I hear the sound of feet, hearings chore
Made bitter sweet by the heat of passion
That is a woman's voice. How can it be
That I, who once was dead inside and so
Without, have now been found by such a gaze
As louts do crave to bear upon their face?
But stay, rue may I to stare into eyes
Of purity, upon virgin's feet so
Lovely; for pondering my hearts woe
I cannot know for sure if such sights throw
Men back again into the pits of hell.
Yet alack! for ten to one sits on fell
Beauty; thus, open eyes, that I may tell.  

                                                          Lidded Eyes, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2012

Thundering Myth

9) Now so charged by a voice like deep thunder!
How much larger is his presence to me
Than all of the pressure in that deep sea
Of death. Walls tonsured by light surround him,
Woe weds the call, assured by brightest whims
That it may be turned asunder from it's pain;
I sit, pay homage as I hear refrains
Course through; pages do hang upon swords
Belonging to their knights as I do his
Most calming, fair gaze. Yet all at once is
This solemn stare razed, bent  by this great wizard
Of light; for bare was my head, but weighty;
With eyes still muzzled by treads of hates fee.
Myths distilled by dusty eyes, now set free. 

                                                                            Thundering Myth, (C) Luke Bennette, April 2012

The Coming Light

Suddenly, a great light falls deep into
The free depths, bright calls seep through
The stony clefts, surround me with its might.
True light, bereft of pounding, lye about
Me now, sight returns to my eyes; but doubt
Lingers still, hate burns within me, the bonds
Of Rage fill me, it spurns the lighted wands,
Those strands of brilliant splendor that now
Nose their bands, such wondrous beams, through sour
Water's. And as I touch this muster of dreams, I
Feel a deeper burning within me still.
Seal's of the reaper turn from sin to will!
Wheels of light now consume me, and
Turn blackest night into a second chance.

                                                                   The Coming Light, (C) Luke Bennette, April 2012

Wasted Breath

7) Wasted by the journey whence I came; see,
I languish in silence; silence. Just be
Is all that I hear, the symphony of
The fall so clearly endured, the red glove
Of my life that I did so freely love,
Now sings to me of some heavenly dove.
It mingles with pain to roam ever through
The shingles of my soul; I wane, never
To wax into shining vein. I hoped to
Relax, in fond memories halls; but grope
For freedom, bonds of rage do band my arms.
I close my eyes, the gauge of hate stands by;
But I do not seize upon the spate now past,
I cry out, perhaps too late, for what lasts. 

                                                                            Wasted Breath, (C) Luke Bennette, April 2012

Self-Bane

6) I sink faster than poor rocks I used to
Throw, when I was king among brothers; oh,
What memories bad, sung, now interweave
Themselves through the dreaded waters; for forms
Of those that have gone before, fettered by
Gloves of vindication, now worn with time's
Rust, will be released in this boiling sea.
But I who was their their evil, guaranteed
What safe passage where I could find it, bleed.
As they bled, pulled ever still into these
Blasted passages of the dead, through trees
Of skeletons where the dreaded sea men
Woe upon themselves the same trickery
They did employ in life; my bane, is me.  

                                                                     Self-Bane, (C) Luke Bennette, April 2012

Unquenchable Fire

5) Floating on the shores, the shores of love,
Boats, gone with oars that pull them further still,
Towards fond memories gate. Ten were ill
That did row this vessel of tainted hope.
What did sow their grievances? Painted rope,
The color of red suddenly tightens,
Pulls me backwards instead, away from hope!
Tolls of hate unbearable sear my
Sides, unquenchable fire, delinquents
Of hell wrench me from the boats firmament!
I stumble, reach out to the nearest man;
I extend myself fully as I still can!
Yet inside I know, this sight will soon fade,
The tide of fire pull me down as bade.    

                                                               Unquenchable Fire, (C) Luke Bennette, March 2012

The Toil of Hope

4) Lying, overcome with the weight of pain,
Trying to sum up the courage to call
Upon the one who makes all well; but sane
Words that filter through my mind, as water
Through a sieve, do now try to find some more
Suitable route, dub me a mere ruptured
Suit, unfit for lodging. As Tupperware
Unsealed, when air dodges through thin cracks.
I real, my hands begin to fall slack;
As though bands did rim themselves round them inch
By inch along the way, cutting off the life
Within! Thus I begin to fade from strife,
The turmoil of hope that kept me alive
Turns to toil; through toil I will strive!

                                                            The Toil of Hope, (C) Luke Bennette, March 2012