Morning Herald

Cue the music of the light,
Dawns first ray becomes a fight
To overcome the stark lit world.
The hues of the golden herald
Do trumpet back with waves of sound
What is lacking, reveals what is found.

A blast of adoration, in dismay
Is the darkness! Set at bay
Is nothingness, and all its works.
For naught is it accounted, it's perks
But a vanishing smoke, a mist
That garners with it not a gist
Of anything that holds a form...
So evil is in fact lacking the norm.

Erroneous is the heart that's cold;
Transfixed by light it is made bold.
And music becomes the mind of pain
By sweeping back with gentle refrain
The curtains of illusory might
That held the soul, to it's delight.

Now grimaces the hand of naught
As though it would our hearts blot
With all the power it has left
Before it doth become bereft
Of any and all of it's lacking shape!
Here comes the sun, it strikes the nape
Of his back and he vanishes!
For the music of light banishes
All that does not exist, reveals what is good...
Now you too must reveal, as you should,
The better part of your day;
Lest you should vanish in the same way.

Look left and right upon creation,
Turn away from hells desecration!
What's good is not what's evil;
Like a bass is not what's treble.
Confuse them not, nor barter together
What is so separate, opposite; weather
The storm of your inclination.
The good of your individuation
Is measured only by the good that makes
Your eyes to see it; the good that slakes
All thirst from our throats now parched.
The herald storms like morning larks!

For what evil you do is nothing,
Returns from whence it was when spring
Had yet to form you within time;
Before the door of advent's rhyme
Did make the gift in which you walk,
In which you do breathe and talk!
Yet little have you to do with mist,
And more have you than mere gist
Which vanishes from the sun lit ray
Of mornings herald; for it keeps at bay
Only that which turns from it's task,
That which does in darkness bask,
Strays far away as lightening,
Doth flare and die in a bright string.

Now in the dwindling time I faint,
More understanding I cannot paint.
I must and shall depart this song...
But hope that you will sing along
The morning heralds blissful tune...
Or else I shall be proved a lune
To sing this song all by myself;
Perhaps to me it is such great wealth
That I merely wish to share
What did for me overcome the snare
Of individuality alone.
I do wish to atone
For times when I was less than right.
And glory in the end of misty night!
And what glory is there when you're alone?
T'were better that one be made of stone
Than to live forever in a nightingale
Where storms do brew forever a tale
Of dark, wind, unwholesome life
That doth brew for us only strife.

The morning herald's ray of light
Has come; so bid adieu to the night.

                 Morning Herald, (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012

Sailing Eternity

Honest? Sincere?
Captain, never fear!
The waves do uphold
Our will to be bold;
And is but good cheer
To we who do near
The land there beyond!
Between us be this pond
Of a sea and ocean;
Lets get to it, no mopin
Around the deck at all!
Lest the wind do us call
To the depths of the sea,
Translate us to eternity.
So when you gaze
Into the abyss a daze
Does become your face;
And leaves without a trace
Upon you the mark
Of a man gone sark
Raving mad with pain!
And that pain, a refrain,
Of suffering inside
Bids you let go your pride!
Accept your fate in this storm!
Fight on! Be it the norm
That many do live on land?
Well we be at sea! Understand?
So do not wish for
A comforting door!
Seek to restore
Your courage! Abhor
That fear that's created
Inside of your heart! Abated
Not has the storm yet;
But if we fight on I do bet
That we'll come to land again
To see hour loves. When
That sun rises we'll at ease
Be in our hearts;
Truly, greater starts
Are never found except
Within the storm! Bereft
Be you and I of hope
If we cannot fasten this rope!
Now take to the sails, awake!
This storm begins to slake
Our thirst for adventure!
Do in your time be sure
Of one thing, one alone.
By the end, through to the bone
We'll be drenched,
Our stomachs clenched,
Our brows will be furrowed
And our bellies hollowed!
But at the end we'll be
At the horizon of the sea;
Where sunlit eternity
Shows us our reward...
The land where we did board.

So go along me lad
Through life; not bad
At all is the life at sea.
A Catholic's life is free
And rough as water
That's brought to barter
For quenching our thirst;
It must be earned
Lest we be accursed!
Have we not yearned
For this my fellow? my friend?
Then sail with me to the end!
Now sing a tune with me,
And we'll pull out into eternity.

Sailing Eternity, (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012

The Dwindling Hour

Quite muted may be
The waves of the sea
Compared to the sway
Of the day lit ray.
And yet how far behind
Be the day's ray in mind
When set against the night
Wherein is set the fight;
For behind is anything
That does not at present bring
Any sweet relief
To the weary thief.
Long be his run,
The night be outdone
Upon a wintery shade
That did the earth bade
More time than the day
For those traveling away;
For thieves do alight
In the darkness of night.
Yet the silence of this
Journey is great bliss.
For it opens the mind
So that in it one may find
All that was once lost
Without the weary cost
Of attempting retreat,
In this world of defeat,
In this world of noise,
In this world of boys
And girls gone mad;
Where good is in fact, bad.
Here in the dark one see's
That the light is abused;
Understands the bee's knees
Is just a cloak for items used.

                The Dwindling Hour, (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012

Before the Trial

A poem of beauty and love I would write 
To one with whom in times gone by my spite
Did cause great anguish, pain and misery...
Yet waring within my poem is a fee
Of guilt that's mixed with a brothers desire
To warn fair sister to contain the fire;
Lest such a fire consume her heart and soul.
I do not call her to surrender whole
Herself to the wages of sin, but want
To give her hope; lest she crush me in taunt
About my own inexperienced ways,
How she did follow for most of her days
A life far greater than anything done
By her whimsy brother. And she would shun
Me if I did state the facts to her face,
Our relationship would be without trace
Were I to complain, to commiserate
With others about how much I do hate
To see this golden gem, sister of mine,
To have wasted her potential, her shine!
But fool I am, to have thought such hard things,
Frowns, lines and wrinkles such deep thinking brings!
And I've wasted time trying to correct
A person that I've never shown respect.

Now my guilt set aside, or confronted,
Stupidity revealed, my ego blunted,
I now can say, with some pride I might add,
That my sister's way has not ended bad.
Has grown like a flower, withered by frost,
Only to be healed; and though great a cost
We who look on would have done it again,
Would have borne with her the pain of it when
Through mire and marsh she did make her bent way,
Through betrayal, and hurt, the darkened day.
I know that this flower still does survive...
Is growing still, is very much alive.
And I the gardener do work to change
My attitudes. Though my ideas with age
Have not changed at all with respect to sin,
I have realized that in order to win
Against the weed that threatens the flower
To humble myself, as a rain shower
Blanket the shoot of life with what it needs;
Rather than grunting and griping of weeds
That shunt about my flowering treasure...
I've learned that sacrifice is the measure
By which I may accomplish all my goals...
For mares do become horses from small foals. 

Whatever the case is, whatever choice
That this flower makes, whatever she doth voice
To be her desire, her decision,
I will remain adviser, will not shun
Her when with weeds she parlays and doth speak,
But will remain in the foreground, all meek
Learning from her lead how to approach such
As never see sunlight, who rarely touch 
What I believe is good, and wholesome to;
So I have learned from my sister a true
Skill, to be forgiving of others who
Do cause me great duress, who are untrue.

If my words do offend, know that I jest
On nothing at all; and may you be blest
To have heard what I have to say in this...
May it bring you joy, happiness, and bliss.
I do not admonish in order to hurt,
But as your brother, to warn you! A flirt
Turns to passion when passion is a breeze...
A breeze comes and goes whenever it please.
But love remains in the heart that's given
To a devotion, steadfastness! Give in
Charity and you will never regret
What you do in life. Though turmoil beset
Your person at every turn and crossing
You will find that love is much like flossing;
It must be kept up, must be regular.
Lest you should in time grow quite unsure
Of the cleanliness of your of your heart and soul...
So as you would brush your teeth, such a goal
As giving your heart charities wreath makes
Life worth living, even when the stakes
Are high enough to choke the soul. Trial
Is the means we know that life is worth while.

                         Before the Trial, (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012

Big Sister

Juggler I name thee,
My one true defeat.
O, that I could be free,
Yet that were not meat
Enough to keep me full;
For I've lived by you,
And in part been made whole
By knowing you in part.
So I know you are true...
Not a juggler, not at heart.

You juggle this, and that as well;
Attempting to steer clear of hell
As best you can with what life gives.
Where others do falter in strife lives
The grandeur of your success!
For you juggle each thing, bless
The ground with your presence...
Elitist perhaps? Better than peasants!
But in all this attire of mind
You still are very kind
To both those that juggle,
And those jugglers.
Might I suggest a bugle
To ward off burglars?

Yet all kidding aside,
Which is hard, as pride
That is thrown by the wayside
Is kidding for we who do slide
Through life with a cup of gin
And a smile on our faces, win
Glory at the slightest touch
Of the hat from a stranger;
Or is this all a bit much?
Like a child born in a manger?
You've eyes of fire,
A mind that's steel,
Though juggler's do tire
You never keel.
You're spirit is level,
Off key at times, but hey...
You ward off the devil,
Keep his tenacity at bay
By your trust in God,
Whom we both do laud.

So am I worried as you grow old?
Not that I know, never been told
Has my heart that you'd be ill
From excessively giving your will
To optimism and to your king;
He did after all give you your ring.
But more than this, you gave your all...
Your responded to Grace, to the call.
You accepted love from on high...
In the form of three children nigh.

So if in doubts, or in straights...
Give a call up to those pearly gates.
Say, "I'm in need of another store
Of patience! This world doth bore
Me to tears from it's mediocrity!
And from it I am tempted to flee!"
And he'll respond from behind,
Because God and your king,
Well, they are of one mind.
From this poem, I hope you do sing.
Know my prayers are with you always...
Before they were, now, till the end of days.

Big Sister, (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012

Many Things...

Treading sand that's heated by the sun
Causes a blandness treated by one
Who is traveling with you, by your side,
To curse and fume at you, his friend's hide!

Carousing the stars at night's frame
Hour of dread, what bars do so name
That time men fled when in their own home
In order to stay awake, to roam,
Causes a number of stares, so to speak;
Becomes the story of the week.

Driving faster than the speed of light
On a morning where there is no sight
Of anything, there is a misty fog,
Is like setting foot into a bog
And ignoring the squishy feeling;
Yet your fears such action is healing.

We often do crazy things in this world,
We are for our friends a divine herald
Of change in a world of stability,
And sometimes the opposite, you will see
When we take a stand in a world of flare
In order to live life as though we care.

And though it's not the same as these
That have come before, if you please,
Do listen to what I now have to say
To you who do walk in the night and the day.

It is strange to go to a place
Where a cross stares you in the face...
Yet for you it is stranger still to be
One who does not go at all, does flee
From the creator of the world at a pace
That is akin to a five K race.

And so you know the ways of the world around you,
And you know that the world has in fact found you.
How will you remain in your faith? Remain true
Unless you remain to the teachings true as glue?

What I have said is nothing new I'm sure,
Contraband is after all merely a blur
And you of all people should know these things;
For they aren't exactly diamond rings
Given out by men of honor,
Bound by men of the collar.
But you know enough to know what's good...
To follow your heart, as God knew you would.
So take a breath once more and breathe...
Another year has come and gone; I heave
A sigh of gratefulness and pray
That next year I may humbly say
I've done better than the year before...
Come closer to the pearly door.

Many Things... (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012

The Hidden Light

Words be not enough,
Thoughts be broken.
Sighs are but bluffs,
And stares a mere token.
To speak to you is base,
For you I cannot face.
To think of you is false,
For I am but callous;
And you are far above
Whatever lies in me,
Hidden, mysterious love,
Endless as the sea.
And if I stare at you,
How can I remain?
For I haven't a clue
As to the refrain
That is sung to your name!
I cannot at all claim
To search your face with mine...
For you pierce me through thine.
O world reveal to me the King.
O words, be open to me and sing
Of the glorious reign of God,
For I, a poet, do merely bawd
At what I cannot know or understand...
And what is by me poorly planned.
O eyes do succumb to darkness now...
That in the dark I may in faith bow.
May increase of darkness increase my faith,
Lest in the dark I become a mere wraith.
May the darkness of life inspire hope
That I am not bound by the rope
Of my consolations and satisfactions;
Which when taken away are malefaction's
Waiting to be unleashed by tempers wrath,
Uncultivated virtue the aftermath.
So be to me my dear Jesus...
Everything, even my breath...
Not the breath that's smelly and strained,
But the breath of life, I do breathe pained
Now without you in my soul!
Enter in, and in you may I be whole.

                            The Hidden Light, (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012