This thinking brow


Twisted lines, upon a brow,
no leading fancy, to lead you now,
incorporated windows, into a soul,
these eyes, that know a weathered fold,
as secrets, stories, mysteries, untold.

Leading hearts upon a chest,
kneeling with hard bone,
not seen, not said, not shown,
but echos flit the hours away,
with speech left stunted,
wind caught with subtle sway,
to stumble drunken, to another day.

Trembling hands,
with feelings unspoken,
as worry feeds, new thoughts awoken.
Time knows ribbons of distant shores,
rush in, pull back, rush in, once more,
and so the years keep coming,
a mind in constant journey learning,
the presence of a lesson,
always relearned anew.

Published by Bexley Benton. (Pen name)

I am B (call me BB and I will gut you) I like daisies, books, and men who understand the wisdom of Kermit the Frog.

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