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Ben Silvestre's Dark Place

Climber | Visionary | Dreamweaver

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Category: Poetry

In memory of a humble farmer

September 10, 2016September 10, 2016 ~ invertedinterior ~ 3 Comments

A few weeks ago my grandfather (the french one) passed away. He was the first of my grandparents to go, I'm very lucky that they're so healthy, and his passing, as it is want to do, caused me to reflect a lot on death. As an Alpinist, death is a subject that I cannot hide … Continue reading In memory of a humble farmer

Candlelight

July 1, 2015August 12, 2018 ~ invertedinterior ~ Leave a comment

Candles are victims to Their flames, and the wicks Veinlike, and thick with cold Fire Are pre-shadowed upon Walls where they dance, And grow by the watch of nights Without mourning. And even then the day Breaks with its promise, And buckles And behind objects strewn Blackness speaks Such fierce vernacular, That shudders unseen from … Continue reading Candlelight

Come with me

June 10, 2015June 14, 2015 ~ invertedinterior ~ 2 Comments

There's a man living in my house. I rarely see him; he hides behind the mirror, and whines. The other day I found him and said: "Tell me, does the storm still rage, does the wind still blow?" "No." "Then why are you bent, and bracing and facing away?" "Well..." "What!? I see that you … Continue reading Come with me

Waiting

June 9, 2015June 14, 2015 ~ invertedinterior ~ Leave a comment

Another day of thunder thunder; wonderful. Wooden slats of broken sofas choke, strained fingers stretch. There's creaking in the eaves, in the wind and the leaves. And and eyes full of hope, sentences of belief, we, arm in arm by the skin of our knuckles grinding our teeth in a fist fight fairy tale. Still … Continue reading Waiting

The Diagnosis

June 9, 2015August 12, 2018 ~ invertedinterior ~ Leave a comment

Masons we stood and watched aghast as the stones that were laid crumbled, the hewn edges cleaved and cut blurred, and we scattered like hunted beasts to find that all was given with cracks and always was. So we howled for our gods to stop the floods and rejoiced perhaps missing that we were free, … Continue reading The Diagnosis

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