Benjamin Adams

Benjamin Adams Feb 2012

Dirt

Dirt clings to the most beautiful things,
for a moment it shares the glory.
It clogs and it diminishes,
But for that moment, dirt is proud,
Because it is a part, holding to something larger.
Then the object is cleaned, purified, and purged.
And dirt is just dirt.
Man was made from dirt.

Benjamin Adams Feb 2012

It's About Going

My pen has blacked out the page.
Scratching through paper, day after day,
but my mind is in a cage.
my words are hollow, I have nothing to say.

This prison is crowded,
inmates claw at my temples.
But my key is shrouded,
I want to let them out but it isn't that simple.

Are they clawing?
Maybe they're praying,
I need to stop withdrawing,
Life isn't about staying.

It's about going,
and I am lost.
I am slowing.
What is the cost?

The first stanza very true. I've been having trouble drawing inspiration to write for the past week or so, and when I do the result hasn't been pretty. I wrote this as a way to force myself through my writer's block, so I don't think it will be one of my best works, but oh well.

Benjamin Adams Feb 2012

It Snowed

It snowed
today.
A great white
cloud descended,
bringing a
preview of
heavens' glorious expanse.
The children laughed and played,
and hit each other with
little spheres of cleanliness.
With flushed cheeks and frozen lips
they slowly trickled inside,
the warmth within even greater
for the cold without.
Even parents felt a warmth
in the snow as they journeyed out,
a glowing reminder that all
is not lost in this world.
But my window stayed shuttered,
my doors remained closed,
my body remained inside.

Benjamin Adams Feb 2012

Wondering (10W)

Sometimes,
I sit, wondering,
"How did I even
get here?"

Benjamin Adams Feb 2012

Blind

Eyes scanned page,
evaluating,
thinking,
judging.
You read
and
you thought
and
then
you talked
all about it.
The whole time
not knowing
that poem
was
all
about
you.

Not necessarily one of my greatest poems, but the sentiment was there so I wrote it down.

Benjamin Adams Feb 2012

A Moment of Regret

Nothing is equal
to a moment of regret,
when everything touched
trembles with catastrophe.
When the realization hits,
that everything's not alright,
it's concrete, unchangeable.
While currents battle
within the skull, conflicting,
snatching,
the mind
is swept away
in its
undertow.

Benjamin Adams Feb 2012

To Move On

I've heard it said that
to move on
is to grow,
but I disagree.
How can you grow if
you don't stop
sometime?
A tree doesn't run,
it stays.
Its roots
nurtured,
drawing strength
from its stationary
nature.
So I stopped
and I stayed
and I grew with you.
But then I figured out
that people aren't trees.