Andrew Benton

The holy light our Master brings
Has graced my humble way—
The seaside cliffs and fearful swell
From which I dare not stray.
...

Your love for me
is treasure dear,
my darling Clementine.
...

I often wonder as I walk
o’er this terrestrial ball,
and through my tribulation vast
I struggle to recall-
...

A river ran ‘round a mountain,
and boasted to the sky:
“My burden’s heavy everyday
and yet I don’t run dry.”
...

Within a single forlorn field
a million daisies lay—

Their heads were bleached by bright sunlight
...

There once stood tall upon a mount,
a jewel above the earth-
a jocund lad of golden mind
whose heart was filled with mirth.
...

A narrow ribbon, full of light,
wound around the mystic place,
where darkness meets the morning bright
and wakens souls to face the day.
...

Above the torpid realm of Earth
a single angel flies-

Her beauty graces banks of clouds
...

Beneath the noble words of King
Which struck on such a chord,
Lies an inward, untold truth—
A need of hope implored.
...

They will be watching
When you are at your best.

They will be with you
...

Perhaps the greatness of the mind
is found within the many ways
we interact among our peers
during our finite flow of days.
...

‘Ere sleep, the poet consumes the man
and takes as his captive, sacred trust,
of mind’s connection with long leaden hands—
and fevered minds consumed with lust—
...

A slight boy wandered with glassy eye
beneath the alabaster sky,
and cried for joy at being free from
evil thoughts of man,
...

If all trespasses on forsaken roads,
ere dawn breaks over crimson-stained, dark skies,
and all verities to shallow abodes
man’s death knolling thought still fails to supply—
...

What thought but love, the evening star which
guides struck jollies past huddled masses on
Neptune’s plain, so worthy as a niche
ignored, shines so bright as the summer dawn?
...

Prologue
Come hither, my friends, and gather round
upon this plot of hallowed market ground;
the site of Christ’s fury, and yet I’m told
...

Minstrels and jollies have sung songs of love—
Have discoursed on fate's tempered offering—
Yet silent crows spiral slowly above
With more joy than man's love can hope to bring.
...

Before my wise tale can hope to be heard
I wish to put forth describing word
concerning the nature of my friend’s sole,
and the many faults which swallowed him whole:
...

I stood upon the summit, bare,
And cold, in garb of silenced ewe—
Listened for the wind which rang
Across the void, velvet and blue,
...