The Milkwhite Magic



The rolling mist obscured the shards of glass
Barefoot they tiptoed toward each other
Drawn on by cries of pain

In the right hand
Each held one half
Of a passport to the sun

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on August 22, 2013, in Poetry, Writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 18 Comments.

  1. Mysteriously delightful.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I can second that!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I will third that! What a lovely image, did u take that yourself?

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Sublime.

    and great choice of artwork as well. fits just right.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. How poetic, Ben! I often wonder what percentage of people do find love that lasts. Or do they just fall into the habit?

    Liked by 1 person

    • My own experience is that there has to be some pain if you want some passion, and that while love can indeed endure, the waters become less turbulent with the years.


  6. super , simply super poem , Ben. I love it 🙂
    groetjes, Francina

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Wow… I mean, this was beautiful.
    And the picture. I love it!

    Liked by 1 person

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