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A Benedict Jun 2022
These tear ducts are barren, dry, and void of overflowing release.
My sleep is filled with dreams that my eyes be filled with streams.
The suffering is the easiest part.
Getting through this arid landscape is difficult, if not impossible.
The window opens to the breeze
as I smell the sweet summery air through savory trees.
How I recall the past and days of hurt.
Times I wish I could be even as high as dirt.
I wander through my own Forest of Arden,
not feeling care,
not a scare,
life in full color I dare…say.
Cobalt blue filled the sky.
Tear ducts still empty—that well, still dry.
As I’ve grown older,
the callouses of life have made me stronger,
perhaps why I can cry no longer.
If I could only wash my troubles away.
Tears, please come without delay.
A Benedict Mar 2020
Shadow of the evening
drifts so slowly
playing the occasional
game of hide and seek
between the soft clouds above and
the dense thickets of trees below.

The shadow flickers,
fades and,
flashes amidst a canvass
of cobalt blue sky
bordered by emerald green grass
splashed with tufts of bright
canary yellow colored daffodils and
slices of violet swaying tulips.

The shadow of the evening
thickens and tightens
its powerful grasp
to pull the curtain open and
usher in Venus,
hanging in the western sky.

Her radiance sparkles upon
the purple backdrop
shining,
twinkling,
sharing her beacon of brightness
as the centerpiece of
evening’s show of wonder.

My shadow now gone,
sunken into the fertile fields
waiting for Dawn’s rosy fingertips
to awaken him once more tomorrow.
A Benedict Feb 2020
With jammed compass
below cloud-filled firmament
sailing forward only arriving in the past.

Nearly impossible
to straighten this ship
without navigation.

Winds blow hard,
blow cold,
blow wicked.

Struggling to steer
this vessel of regret
through such waters of uncertainty.
A Benedict Dec 2019
Lying motionless,
cold and emotionless.
Stirring without movement,
thinking without thought,
languishing alone,
forgetting what I initially sought.

Watching the hands,
of that motionless clock.
Mindful of each tick,
mindless of the next step.

Trapped in a cage,
defined by bars,
of unaccomplished,
achievement.

Waking the next day,
to face it again,
only to lay motionless,
in my emotionless,
vapid way.

Apathy,
my strongest strength,
and my greatest fear.
A Benedict Dec 2019
What a difference a year makes.
Within one rapid revolution around the sun,
there were new people I counted upon,
and now they’re done.

New places,
new faces,
new discoveries,
as one single, solitary spring,
yielded new blooms,
as life began anew.

Friendships forged,
and favors done.
From simple basic bonds,
as fresh excitement filled my days.
Sounds of Van Morrison,
sang through endless summer nights,
but only after the summer shower.

So many conversations about life,
and the many triumphs,
tragedies and places,
from the past,
into the present,
and in between.

A new home found,
a home loved.
A home with friends,
these brothers and sisters.

On one occasion,
powerful torrents of rain,
wind and devastation,
moved up the coast,
as my family moved closer to me,
and I took care of them.

With bread broken in the darkness,
that night when the power went out,
and wine guzzled to the last drop by candlelight,
hearty toasts toasted to strong friendships,
toasts to good times,
toasts to loyalty.
What a difference a year makes.

Then the leaves fell hard,
not only on the common walkway we shared,
but upon the camaraderie,
that was forged,
and on those days,
that I thought would never end.

As temperatures dropped,
The friends grew cold too.
With all the favors done,
guidance given,
affection offered,
timelessness now became uselessness.

When the snow fell,
these flakes also scattered one-by-one.
Away they went.
Away.

Then the spring sun rose,
while that cold wind continued to blow,
through the trees that once carried,
friendship’s friendly leaves.

No more bread.
Empty bottles of wine.
As the doves scattered,
they vanished like dust,
and these friendships disappeared,
while my heart banged a broken beat.

But a lesson was taught and learned,
protect each month,
and guard each day,
because what a difference a year makes along the way.
A Benedict Dec 2019
Grateful abundance.
Abundant gluttony.
Cornucopia’s contents spilled,
overflowing like spring-soaked streams.

Satisfied?

Stuffed, sweating and stupefied.
Crumbled morsels piling,
higher each November.

A lack of thankfulness.
Abundant gluttony,
And you’re thankful for that?!
A little bit late since the holiday has passed...
A Benedict Sep 2019
Being a political campaign manager,
is like pulling wings off of flies.
Except for the poor,
filthy creatures,
don’t deserve that type of torture,
while the campaign manager does.

Campaigns are tough as hell,
and if your candidate wins,
that’s where you’ll probably end up,
steered there by all,
the empty promises.
Carried by a wingless fly.

Campaigns are loathsome.
The lies.
The attacks,
and attacking.
More heartburn,
compliments of the
fast food,
late nights,
early mornings and,
the colleagues’ coffee-breath,
wafting into your face,
as they yell only inches away
from your nose.

The campaign manager,
wishing he could float away,
on the red, white and blue,
campaign event balloons,
wishing he never returns,
at least not until,
the next campaign.

Every voter always seems,
to have a question,
at the wrong time,
and the campaign manager,
always has the answer,
“Not to my recollection.”
“We’re looking into the matter.”
“No comment,”
******* off the,
communications director.

Everyone has an agenda,
but none more,
important than putting,
more copy paper in the printer,
for the campaign manager,
to begin printing up resumes,
for the next campaign.
And, those are the days,
when the candidate is only,
behind by four points.

Everyone has a vote,
and some have two,
or so it seems.
Grab those votes!
Or at least as many,
as the field director says.

But once the first,
Tuesday of November,
has come and gone,
you are left looking,
for a friend.
Has anyone seen,
a fly buzzing around here,
to talk to?
Since it's getting busy on the campaign trail, I thought this would be appropriate...
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