Broken stones don't feel the scar; but alone
And scared, running from your bizarre show I
Found myself broken, and the pain was hell.
Stone's grow still, and are still until touched
By forces outside of their own control;
Yet I remain in motion, and my soul
Still flees from what it can't face. Cracks, crannies,
A million fissures within this dusty
Piece of earth: forged from the deep recesses
Of a jungle; their are stones thrown and caught,
Crashing through the midst of so much dust, that
Gleams from the sun, but emits not self warmth.
So my heart emits a chill from the pain;
The sorrow felt when I utter your name.
A Sea of Dust, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012
Friday, June 1, 2012
If is as If does
If evil be as evil does, then I
Should flee from you! because of a great fear
That I have, an aversion for death's hand
That would cripple me err I spent one night
In your company. Yet if good be as
Good is said to do, not many a man has
Been as good as you. For though you took me
Grudgingly, unwillingly gave me food,
Mumbled and grumbled that I lived a day
Longer than the night you took me inside,
Still you comforted me with your presence,
And gave me a bed where my head might lie.
Yet all of this is if: for if's sake I
Hope you are good; lest for if's sake I die.
If is as If does, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012
Should flee from you! because of a great fear
That I have, an aversion for death's hand
That would cripple me err I spent one night
In your company. Yet if good be as
Good is said to do, not many a man has
Been as good as you. For though you took me
Grudgingly, unwillingly gave me food,
Mumbled and grumbled that I lived a day
Longer than the night you took me inside,
Still you comforted me with your presence,
And gave me a bed where my head might lie.
Yet all of this is if: for if's sake I
Hope you are good; lest for if's sake I die.
If is as If does, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012
A Question of Mercy
What shall we do to the wrongdoers made
Present in our sight? How wrongly they bade
Us come at night, to take part in revels
That clearly fight the good. O such devils;
Would it not be better that such beings
Be put to death by letter law? Ring
Them in by the light of day lest they draw
From you a bitter fear, as night's own maw
Is want to do, a sitter of hatred
That watches over the pups until dawn
Comes over the ridge with a gentle yawn;
Then does night grow hungry with such a dread.
What then stand between us and the dread law
That would end at day the night scarecrows caw?
A Question of Mercy, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012
Present in our sight? How wrongly they bade
Us come at night, to take part in revels
That clearly fight the good. O such devils;
Would it not be better that such beings
Be put to death by letter law? Ring
Them in by the light of day lest they draw
From you a bitter fear, as night's own maw
Is want to do, a sitter of hatred
That watches over the pups until dawn
Comes over the ridge with a gentle yawn;
Then does night grow hungry with such a dread.
What then stand between us and the dread law
That would end at day the night scarecrows caw?
A Question of Mercy, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012
An Observation made by He
How strange to see what mine eye clearly states
To be a state of being that relates
Two persons by the quarrel between them.
How odd it is that they should fight, when dens
Of thieves beneath the streets of the city
Should be the focus of their sight. Pity.
Weird to see the weir of their anger break
Over with wanton violence, to slake
A rivalry forged by their parents hand.
Base to see such beings be for the land
Exactly what they accused each to be;
O if only blind men could see the sea
Of trouble they are in when they do fight,
The futility of day fighting night.
An Observation made by He, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012
To be a state of being that relates
Two persons by the quarrel between them.
How odd it is that they should fight, when dens
Of thieves beneath the streets of the city
Should be the focus of their sight. Pity.
Weird to see the weir of their anger break
Over with wanton violence, to slake
A rivalry forged by their parents hand.
Base to see such beings be for the land
Exactly what they accused each to be;
O if only blind men could see the sea
Of trouble they are in when they do fight,
The futility of day fighting night.
An Observation made by He, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012
Dark Prophecy
Scatter them fast if you wish to live past
The hour of twelve! For wanton pages
Of such a book, writ with God's own blood, hast
No mercy for such a one as you! Sages
Long ago did spy through the cracks of stars
The purpose of such being, of this book:
By the cunning angle and look of mars
In summertime, when Romans he forsook
To the raging power of the Sun's gaze.
Now you must throw such pages to the wind,
Lest you fall into such a sleep as dark
Ness eternal can devise for a fiend;
A bird in dungeon cage, the morning lark.
What is not for men may be discovered,
Yet by it they shall forever be scourged.
Dark Prophecy, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012
The hour of twelve! For wanton pages
Of such a book, writ with God's own blood, hast
No mercy for such a one as you! Sages
Long ago did spy through the cracks of stars
The purpose of such being, of this book:
By the cunning angle and look of mars
In summertime, when Romans he forsook
To the raging power of the Sun's gaze.
Now you must throw such pages to the wind,
Lest you fall into such a sleep as dark
Ness eternal can devise for a fiend;
A bird in dungeon cage, the morning lark.
What is not for men may be discovered,
Yet by it they shall forever be scourged.
Dark Prophecy, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012
The Wary Eye
Whenever I hear the sound of his step,
All muffled with rags, caught in the deafness
That haunts his ethereal presence, I
Take a moment to observe his keen eye;
For a shroud of it may escape the dress
Of time's bitter wall made firm with God's own
Hand. But when I look he feigns to pass me by,
As though his gaze was stuck to another
Passerby, some poor soul with no reply
For his sins. Yet I am not deaf to his
Clear cut wit that rings out like new struck bells
In a church tower at three o'clock; when day
Is fatigued, and night begins stealing way
Ward rays' of lite so as to grow in might.
The Wary Eye, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012
All muffled with rags, caught in the deafness
That haunts his ethereal presence, I
Take a moment to observe his keen eye;
For a shroud of it may escape the dress
Of time's bitter wall made firm with God's own
Hand. But when I look he feigns to pass me by,
As though his gaze was stuck to another
Passerby, some poor soul with no reply
For his sins. Yet I am not deaf to his
Clear cut wit that rings out like new struck bells
In a church tower at three o'clock; when day
Is fatigued, and night begins stealing way
Ward rays' of lite so as to grow in might.
The Wary Eye, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012
On the Threshold
Now life becomes a bitter struggle, a
Feud unresolved between bitter rivals:
Though time gone by has shown us blessings still
Time passes them without a word and shows
Itself to be a duplicitous foe
That feasts itself upon my present straits;
Like a shadow unseen, a spiders web
I walked straight through and found to my dread, late,
That my foe desired to acquit himself
As honorable to duty, and make
Of me such mince meat, as would give him slake.
My life, then and there given, he would take.
Yet to cross me with his blade he must cross life;
Must go against it with his bitter strife.
On the Threshold, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012
Feud unresolved between bitter rivals:
Though time gone by has shown us blessings still
Time passes them without a word and shows
Itself to be a duplicitous foe
That feasts itself upon my present straits;
Like a shadow unseen, a spiders web
I walked straight through and found to my dread, late,
That my foe desired to acquit himself
As honorable to duty, and make
Of me such mince meat, as would give him slake.
My life, then and there given, he would take.
Yet to cross me with his blade he must cross life;
Must go against it with his bitter strife.
On the Threshold, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012
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