http://slow.writerscafe.org/Bennydoyle The original writings of author Benny Doyle en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776180096 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 oh the blood red sky... the remnants of a last heartbeat that has never been tampered with. one momentary tease of magnetism to captivate the core. the forgiveness of forever even without promise. maybe we're not running from anything but ourselves, or maybe we chase the glow that our senses have be.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559891/  An open book of blatant glance, the oldest song of lonely dance. the fortitude to take a stance, and past lives cross by more than chance... the fall of fall from summers' wear, the cold of winters' lonely stare, with fingers crossed from unheard prayer, capitulate without a care... I'll never.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559889/ The clarified thought, the entangled knot, the pendulum in swing. the burial plot that couldn't be bought or souls that never sing... the moment's here, and without fear, we laugh at number's sum. it's only clear when we disappear or there's silence from the drum... so, bury our dead and shake our h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559888/ Surfers care about the swell. an apoplectic, thoughtful hell. two fighters' rise to greet the bell. a grasp of pride before they fell... the lowly lust from fallen rains. the ocean washes soulful stains. recurring thoughts from simple brains, recurring thoughts from simple brains... cantankerous in .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559887/ please send us back from whence we came. the unabated state of blame. life is life by any name, and love is love, but still a game... and all we thought we knew before, is walking through that unlocked door, we tempt our fate, we clean our core, and memories become folklore... dear stevie nicks of g.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559886/ Another hour sheds its grace when all we have is time... another soul in lonely space, from heights that we can't climb... we gravitate, we mediate, our youth we beg to hold. we run from time than deviate, and now we're getting old... and by the road where we shook hands, that long lost summer day.... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559885/  This bad luck streak, so un-unique, that long lost summer day. you seek the weak, but only speak to souls about to stray... It's evident with evidence, you'll never let me be. you've come again, two thirds of ten, with yet another plea... it's one last taunt you'd love to flaunt, one soul you'.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559884/ it started as a lonely tear, a salty cheek, a noble fear. a cry we cry when no one's near, a thought we share in no one's ear... yesterday is tomorrows chase, the moon will call and we will race, and gravitations pull from space, is a lonely tear from a lonely face... and over time that tear became .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559882/ and in the place that we did dwell, the holiest of holy hell, it tolls for us, that final bell, the universe of parallel... it's not like us to seek out fame, the lonely lust of fallen shame, the last we knew of our own name, the final call and no one came... the book we wrote, we'll somehow bind it.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559881/ what do you mean it's not a dream? a lonely word, a silent scream. the broadness of the balance beam and by myself is not a team... it's only in a moments stare, that last tear fell, what do you care, if life is short and death is fair? and we are blood and bone and air... so when the autumn sunset .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559880/  one day someone will stand up for me. we will walk it on down to the burial ground, happily dressed in the somber sound, and someone will stand up for me. the rain will fall and one and all will laugh or cry at this final fall, and someone will stand up for me. the time it took to feel a look,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559879/ The ocean has its own lament, a requiem from full moon sent. life and death don't circumvent, and promises won't pay the rent... we're all the stars of our own screen, reflections in the mirror's machine, directors cuts won't make us clean or sequels from our final scene... we're in this realm with .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559878/ Our hallowed ground with resting stone, from moments saved and memories thrown, the learning seeds we've never sown or tears we wipe when we're alone... six feet deep in our cold cage, the novel and it's final page says we are filled with lust and rage, but death is not the final stage... time and s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559877/  A certain dust from youthful lust can sway such hallowed hall, and all we must take from this trust, is pride before the fall... now time is bored with sharpened sword and nothing left to say, and death has poured its unexplored redemption for the day... the sun has bled, the moon is fed and f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559875/ Vanity from both sides (in G minor) by benny doyle. He... He with his Herringbone blazer, flipped collar and quilted scarf, as if he were some out of work thespian or under-paid play-write. He, with his quaint and convenient apartment, one floor below the penthouse, sipping pinot noir well into the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559872/  It's still a loss despite the win, let's roll the dice to spite the sin, drying eyes entice the grin, my heart is old and growing thin... past life sins have paid the fee, swapping souls might set us free, let's live our lives, to some degree, as if I were you and you were me... there's nothin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559857/ Potential peace is more arcane than sweating brow and piercing vein, my love to Charles Foster Kane, is life a game of flash and feign? Ideas stem from thoughtful knock, with heartless key and holy lock, we'll build a shrine to bring the flock, but J.D. Salinger won't talk. Flailing hopes that .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559855/ Ode to the ominous amen... We know this place, confined in space, embedded in a thought. our fall from grace, or times we chase the memory we forgot... The "oh so sure" of what we were in life is now bereft, and time is pure if you prefer a plot of lifelong theft... It's not a cell, what did you yel.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Bennydoyle/1559851/