Tuesday, April 23, 2013

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.


  1. Hi Sandy,
    "The hours" is such a moody poem.
    Love lines:

    fall like orchid petals
    to their private deaths.

    This poem's sensory images moves from outside to inside, cascading stanza to stanza.

    So glad to find you here.


  2. Hi M.J.,

    Thanks so much for the compliment, I really appreciate the feedback. Nice to see you here too!