Biography of Tim Benton
Born in Washington but raised in Wisconsin, Tim Benton was the fourth child to be born into a rather large family of eleven children. As a preacher’s son, Tim of course went the way of most preachers’ kids and was as wild as the day is long.
After all he has done and been through including running from himself, God, and the law, he’d finally came to a point in his life where he learned that the only way to find true happiness was to look up above for salvation.
He now lives happily with his family in Wisconsin.
You will find within his book the unique outlook that comes from someone that has tried out what the world has to offer, and found it all lacking! You will also find how he has finally found hope and happiness through the message that he is sharing and delivering.
“Conversations with an Angel: The Watchers” is the first book of a trilogy to come out.
Look forward to the near future for the next book “Conversations with an Angel: The Captains” to come out along with other writings from Tim Benton.
Tim Benton's Works:
Conversations with an Angel: The Watchers
Tim Benton Poems
In the past you’ve heard of the need for purity of race amidst the clatter of leather boots marching in goosestep, A tyrant preaching madness, as mothers for their lost children wept. In our land they called the natives savages, as they killed whole tribes, And tried to convert the ones left, with violence, relocation and bribes.
The explosions in the street causes all to run and cover, All look around for their children and lover. Babies raised around guns instead of dolls with which to play, Innocence and love stolen, as the young ones are thrown into the fray.
The drums are pounding, let’s get dressed up for battle, Let’s draw up our lines, and make the sabers rattle. Bring out the young men, in their prime of life, Take away their dreams, in a moment of strife.
I come in many disguises, some are hard to detect, Yet looking closely, you will find me in small ways if you take time to reflect. I will come as a small whisper, to make you question all that is pure, My power isn’t by actions, it’s by thought, and this much is sure.
The cleric walks by the child, whom is hungry needing some food, He ignores him because he believes his beliefs are rather lewd. Let me preach at you, trying to convert you, yet ignore your needs, Because this makes me feel better, superiority is on what my piousness feeds.
Out of the mist a voice spoke with a roar as thunder, Sunlight broke out, causing the darkness to break asunder. One saw a planet that was covered with mist, without a form, Yet with one word the mist was torn away, as if by a storm.
The drums are pounding, let’s get dressed up for battle,
Let’s draw up our lines, and make the sabers rattle.
Bring out the young men, in their prime of life,
Take away their dreams, in a moment of strife.
Let the strong overcome the weak, with the havoc of war,
Watch the birds of prey, as over the battlefield they soar.
We will justify all, to make our conflict seem just,
Because to win, we shall do all that we must.