Works by Ben Balazs

The news is news to me. As best described as pixels of tears and broken bones, Anchors hold with voices gold, And not much more is seen or heard, But little is known of those involved except that they do suffer. That they must hold their kin by arms, by legs, by fingers, by blood, No shame can be described as that which cannot be solved. That which is missing pieces, An equation with no solution, A world of storytelling and unseen resolution. I see not much by way of pain, For I live here, I’m far away. "I wasn't there," I often say. It's not my core, it's not my life. I do not witness fear by eye. I do not fear at all. Know it I do not, The taste of blood running, The smell of burning rubber and tendons, I do not catch the wanting scent of death or hear the sound of sirens. No make or model or vision of mind, Could recreate what one can find, When met with horror and grief and loss, And yet it’s found with double clicks, And yet it’s s...

Spring cleaning never gets easy. Sometimes you find that, year by year, one accumulates an impressionable amount of waste. This year was no different than the rest. In my hands was a trash bag, full and hefty with dusty displeasure. Even so, I felt the need to double-check the contents, otherwise I wouldn't be able to sleep at night knowing I might've thrown out an antique. The first object I found was a pair of sunglasses. I had gifted them to an ex-girlfriend a while back. She always wore shades, so I figured they were an appropriate present. Only when she broke up with me did she explain that wearing them was the best way to avoid eye contact with me. Beneath the glasses was a lead pencil, snapped in two. I had gotten into an argument with my father about how I would make a living. "You're 19 now," he'd say, "Time to get off your ass." I got so infuriated with him for not understanding and I crushed this pencil in between my fingers. He left i...

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...

He sat himself comfortably in the cushioning of a red lounge chair. After relaxing his shoulders, he placed a small ceramic plate in front of him, atop a foot stool. Glowing keenly in the light was a small purple berry. He stared at it intently. Obviously, he craved whatever lie on that small dish, and it was only a matter of time before he gobbled it up. Yet, he continued to glare at it. His focus was interrupted by the cackling of burnt wood in the hearth beside him. The flames seemed to cast a rather large shadow behind the fruit. The man slowly raised the object with his thumb and pointer finger. His pupils shrunk to the size of small beads as they centered in on the minuscule treat. He drew the berry close to his nose and gave it a few calculated sniffs, similar to that of a dog. It didn't seem to smell like anything. This perplexed the man. His hands grew tired of holding the fruit up, as they were ragged and veiny, so he placed it back onto the ceramic surface. For a momen...

Who glows so keenly in the night? Who winks and giggles as they follows me into my dreams? Who breathes their cool breathe upon my neck as I drift off into my fantasies? Who kindly carries the weight of my day upon their bosom? None other than the blue moon could cause such wonder. The blue moon and her blue locks of hair that glitter across the sky. The blue moon and her blue eyes that seem to mesmerize me in their wake. The blue moon that sings to me when I am deep in the pit of gloom. Oh how wondrous she is indeed! I can imagine myself on her cratered throne, drifting along the endlessly lit road of the sky. She would kiss me and soothe me with words she never said. The thought of her refreshing presence, brimming from the edge of the horizon, brings an immediate smile to my face! Perhaps one day, when my eyes can no longer see hers, when my ears cannot capture her precious voice, when I can no longer feel her brushing along my cheek... Perhaps then I may join my belo...