A Poem by Sandy Benitez

The Hours

Boredom is such a nuisance.

The hours--rare and silent,

fall like orchid petals

to their private deaths.

The earth consumes what is left

after the insects have their way.

 

We search for the elusive muse,

something that will move us

and carry us towards enlightenment;

a whisper in the wind,

a prayer spoken through bleeding lips,

an empath interpreting aura.

 

My heart remembers the heaviness

of writing verse to a poem

or a letter to a loved one;

the pauses that wrap around my thoughts

become the roots of an old tree

and I suffocate beneath the pressure.

 

As the clock ticks,

pieces of me drop--one by one.

I am shedding myself of the past,

growing new skin in the present.

The future can only be imagined

dangling precariously from a rocky cliff.

 

 

 

Sandy Benitez is the founder and editor of Flutter Press and Poppy Road Review. She has authored a full-length collection of poetry, five chapbooks, and published in two anthologies. Sandy resides in California with her husband and their 2 children.