Benjamin Mitchell Poems

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.
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Aged to perfection, over years
Of bottling sorrows and fears:
Sweet Sadness breaks the heart and makes it possible to mend.
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I lounge atop my weary shed
Drenched in sunset's dying rays
Hide inside my weary head
And reminisce on simpler days.
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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.
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Now and then I think too much
Or sometimes I think so,
Yet thoughtlessness seems like a crutch
For those who dare not know.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Oh those eyes, those bright brown eyes,
Like some scared mountain spring
Once served this dusty traveller
With needed drink and filled canteen.
...