How much I miss
to moss in love
holding the mold
to gorgon stone
a lifetime ago, this
ancient road.
Horizons beam
my wanderlust dream:
I am dim
of years away
from the final
dandelion blaze,
still sleek from behind
with the Sun going down
‘til morning lurks
to hone the worm
& I (…alone,
at night,
aloof and on hooves,
am rambling for love
at the end of Beyond…)
wish to bite
these curious skies
with reborn eyes
on firefly wings
across the ranging twang
as the countryside crows
(with craggily-bent)
these hard-up hills
to the faceless brunt.
I brow my spells
in leafy black-green
where sullen moons
sulk in pretty-pink
(colors to dust
by the restless
reproach
of a rusting dusk)
:
I am mossed & made
on the honey.bear mark.
I mulch & murk
’til the unicorn drinks.
How little you miss
to dwell in stone,
these forgotten roads
a lifetime ago.
The horizon sings
of worm & wing,
that perpetual gaze
of rock & gust.
Beautifully penned, Benjamin. Amazing write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
I can see why it was nominated. It has a dreamy and faraway quality to it.
I always think unicorn is code for a secret society this made me feel God himself was talking to me just beautiful…
I brow my spells
in leafy black-green
where sullen moons
sulk in pretty-pink
love it 💕
For me, this is a quiet eventide piece, gently reflective, maybe nostalgic, perhaps melancholic. Miss to moss, I brow my spells in leafy black-green—delightful :))
I was raised around poetry books, and my dad liked to dabble in it late at night. My oldest sister too, had books around, and hers were more what developed my tastes. Like this write of yours. It reminds me of old Dylan. I don’t know why. yet that’s a good thing to key my old memories of reading his stuff.
You sir, are a poet. Not just a writer. an actual poet. And that is a very good thing.