Last in Line

Walls of stone, pillars of wood, doors held fast
Against a foe upon marble, and such
Antiquated weapons do I hold, last
In line to hold them, last member to touch
Them in a long line of family dreams
Now broken by the enemy who deems
Us unfit for rule. Inner room of glass,
Stained by rays of gold, blue, red and green,
Painted with color's so that we may pass
Through a world untouched by the woes of he
That breaks us in two. Yet now he comes near,
Baring his teeth, uninvited to tea,
But heeding no law save his own I heed
The call I've always known and take the lead.

                Last in Line, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

The Everlasting Journey

Quiet night begins to bore upon me,
As stars, the silent sentries of morning
Gaze ceaselessly upon the ground and sea;
Such disquiet within my heart will sing
Out in the sea of shadows before dawn
Louder than the simplicity of a yawn.
Yet though the pounding waves of blood begin
To overwhelm senses, unwavering
Gaze of sentries joined by faint silver trim,
My mind still holds the picture of a ring,
A bond held fast in everlasting hands,
As sky and sea do hold apart yet near.
So do I walk with sea's disquiet; fear.
But wind's grace still warms my heart with cheer.

                The Everlasting Journey, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

In Response to Your Smile

When I look upon your face, and see you
Smiling back at me, your visage makes me
Trace upon my mind love's pure light made true;
And there I look when I'm asleep, to be
Free from want and pain that causes distress,
As surely it does, to this I confess.
Yet no words do I find to respond here,
Your smile widens still at my wide silence:
And here I insert the words of a seer
That spoke many years ago of reverence;
For what you love shall remain in your heart
And cause it each day to wake up with start
Akin to starlight. And basking in grace
Of a friend you love you will know your place.

                   In Response to Your Smile, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012

Playing into Your Hands

Flame amid matches on a glorious
Summer day, in June, yes; nefarious
In nature, gifted in ruin. Yet like
A wise and caring sage, a soldier's friend
Amongst the carnage of a battle dike
Where bodies do fall and crumple, their end
Like a paper doll's in the hand of kids
That know not the fragility that's hid
Within the image of love made present.
Some present scheme keeps me safe: like peasants
Who bid for freedom making a hell,
Causing chaos; I did not desire
Such a purpose in your hands, such fire.
And the consequences I cannot tell...

                   Playing into Your Hands, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012

Upon the Stool

Who denies the Fate his prize caught eyes? Those
Blue set beauties he did hew from a corpse
Devoid of sight? Such a man might well hose
Down the toes of a giant, he knows hopes
Do dwindle fast, that fate has the last laugh
Amongst the living men; unforgiving
Are his cruel eyes, upon a stool hath
He ever been, fishing for mortal string
To replace his failing sight, and he does
Not take kindly to those kingly souls who
Stand between his immortal hands. But cause
Enough you might have to right a wrong: flew
To her sight without a thought for safety.
Yet beware, the matters truly weighty 

                Upon the Stool, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Where distant fields meld a chorus blue,
Of violets, daffodils, and yellow
Daisies of brightest hue: there we met, two
Lovers, hand in hand. I was a fellow:
You were a dame; and though gentle refrain
Kept us apart from one another's being,
As water droplets caught after a rain
In summertime's sunlit vapor, we in
Mock display of gentility stole kiss
After kiss underneath oak tree. Such bliss
Was better not condemned by Holy See,
But t'was done so, and we were not to be.
For where two lovers lie without a pact
Their love becomes a fiction, not a fact.

                 Fictitious, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Marvelous beginnings

O for a muse that would give me fairy
Dust! But I smell the effects of dairy
Cows in a field of daisies. Common rust
That coats the soul, unwholesome as the dust
That flies by day. Yet you say to me now
That this dust, though common in form, is how
The great visitation of dawning light
Is seen as such instead of the black night?
That the color of rust that is the sand
Fill's the sky with contraband, doth command
With it's proportions that the sunlit rays
Do shine forth with a most beauteous gaze?
O that I could see the smallest portion,
That glittering sea that makes sunlight run.

                   Marvelous beginnings, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012