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This is one of my most personal works. For it is about a conversation a had with my Dad (whom I had practically never known my whole life) when I was about fifeteen and it brought about a huge epiphany. It begins with a unbearable stroke of apathy, for which the narrator is then reconciled by his father.

I didn't include quotes, I don't know why, they just looked ugly. Sorry for the confusion.

It's almost embaressing posting this, for I know that it is a bit overdone, ...

The black night slowly rises
And the skinny beggars are unveiled
Their rough woods sticking out
Tragic, but for so long they grew
Stretching their arms out
To come close to the world,
Reaching from the depths
Of passionless isolation
For the days of old memory
Of waving grass in summers breeze
Are now gone
Buried and embedded in the dead landscape
Of subtle white beauty

I see that the rain is coming down
as I sit from above
and see it pilt the windowsill
(but only slightly)
I listen to the tunes of Ellington
and the ecstasies of the 20s’
with the trees in the wind frivently
dancing to the airs of the blows
within each ear, as the wind hesitates
mumbles, stumbling on trying to find its own tune
Oh the partyhall of dancers, may it be
the carousing trees, drunk as they are
With wind ...

Cannot be posted here because the posting code messes up the indents, which are important.

I consider this one of my most mature and expressive works (though since it's in part autobiographical you don't have to understand it entirely).

here's a link http://danielbenoit.blog.com/2009/08/03/the-thought/

Si renderanno conto un giorno
Saprà un giorno

Maybe ignorance will tire fault
And the clouds will overcome the moon
The moon, will be at fault.

Haze of hazelnut coffee
Dreary over eyes
Too much of late;
9:45
Humid, no rain
(It rained last night).
Pressure over my head
Sleep brought over my head

Bulb falling from the ceiling
Bouncing off the table
Smashing upon the ground ...