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Benjamin McNeil

of

Nashville, TN, US

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Untitled

by

Benjamin McNeil

Sullen, omniscient rays of the sun
Spring up me from cold ambience, faithless and was
Whose denizens turn eyes, but not for Helion.

Chose I the lady wrong, and sick have I become
So sick as Echo is, who never is so numbed
Though if she be released, I know I should not come.

These rays, they spill in curves onto the earth
And quell my speeding nerves with what stifling girth
Like her you cannot hold, nor speak to it in mirth.

Young Phaethon should not have chased his ghost
And flown the sun, though it does burn with godly boast,
But burns yet still. What prophecy; Fate makes poor host!

To don the frightly mask of comedy
Of Thalia, but cry with sad Melpomene,
We dance upon the stage a sickly jubilee -

For what was winter then is winter still
And I, with but a girl, can feel the winter chill
As she with child lies on some small distant hill.


Untitled

by

Benjamin McNeil

There once was a man from Tuborgun
Who had on his head ten balls and five organs
He told his friend John his secret,
Made him promise to keep it,
But instead John killed this neo-gorgon