Benjamin Mitchell

Like a coal, her hair's afire
Not bright, but burning all the same;
And so inside me burns desire:
A low, smouldering, crimson flame.
...

Moments float like motes of dust
Struck by some celestial light.
Though they shine, indeed they must
Float on still, beyond my sight.
...

Aged to perfection, over years
Of bottling sorrows and fears:
Sweet Sadness breaks the heart and makes it possible to mend.
...

I lounge atop my weary shed
Drenched in sunset's dying rays
Hide inside my weary head
And reminisce on simpler days.
...

It's times like these I start to fear
That I was born for a different sphear:
It seems there's not much for me here
Nothing, no one that I hold dear.
...

Now and then I think too much
Or sometimes I think so,
Yet thoughtlessness seems like a crutch
For those who dare not know.
...

I gave up my pride for fifteen dollars
And sat as she cut it with care,
Wondering why, for my pride, I paid fifteen dollars
As I sat, sinking slowly into the chair.
...

I know when I am being worked:
That sleight of eye, slight curve of lip
Yet, even then, I'm not quite irked
Even if 'twas for the tip.
...

I've heard it said that pain
Often lays entwined with pleasure,
yet most rent them in twain
Not wanting the both of them together.
...

Oh those eyes, those bright brown eyes,
Like some scared mountain spring
Once served this dusty traveller
With needed drink and filled canteen.
...