Works by Ben Balazs

The sky was devoid of clouds, allowing the sunlight from above to pulsate casually onto the stale earth below. Caught in this unfortunate heatwave was a young man. He wandered throughout the desert expanse aimlessly, seeming to have no clue as to his whereabouts. His blue jeans contrasted well with the pale dirt that huddled around his feet, making him a beacon of color in a colorless landscape.  Eventually the man came upon a large rock face that stood many meters high. At its base were numerous stone crags - a somewhat intimidating installment of nature. He pressed forward until he reached the wall-like structure, finding sweet sanctuary under its shade. The man surmised that he would be there a while, trying to regain his energy, and found that he was also quite parched. He smoothed his chapped lips with the tips of his equally dry fingers. The man searched around the base of the rock, trying to find an entry or means of passage beyond its border.  After wondering aroun...

Her legs were laid bare upon the granules of eroded land, feet slipping along the lip of the ocean. She looked out and envied the worlds beyond the waters edge. Her soul sang blues while she stared into the murky depths. The ocean floor couldn't be far from here. It drew her closer, nearer, the sound ever clear. It's hands crept along the surface, scaling the sandy mountains in its path. It clung to her arms, her neck, her hands; grasping tightly and numbing the limbs. It would be so easy for her to close those eyes, to let the wind carry her hither and thither. But would she not yearn for that solid ground? Was there really any harm in never moving at all...? Her body shuttered at the thought. Not to the thought of drifting forever in outer space. The thought of uncertainty. This decision was hers alone, Even so, the skin can only absorb so much. She could wait until the goosebumps marched along her sun-kissed skin. She could dry and prune away by this hole in...

To some it may seem a love affair, and to others a performance. Her affection is unseen by many, heard of by most. Her hair laid low, held in tight strings along the wooden borders of a bow. Her body, slender and curvy, bouncing around the edges of a hollow shell. She exudes sound with elegance and volume. Her voice rings in your ears, often mistaken for the whispers of some goddess or another. I've seen those who hold her, those who brace themselves against her chest with such passion. When they play, the delight flutters from their determined smile to the edges of their fingers. It is a romance novel written in musical notation. A sight for those that are groomed and able to gawk for long hours. Those that can ogle from the faraway stands, hanging above like bats in a cave. And yet to the love birds, chirping as they tend to, those eyes do not exist. They do not feel the pressure of a concentrated glare on their neck. This exchange between two hearts is too grand for that - to...