Hank Besant is a poet based in the Chicagoland area. Hank believes poetry is necessary for the journey home, and enjoys remembering his voice as much as possible.
Instant pleasures never last, Infantile puppets of the past. Life is an arrow, he is the tip, The wake has never driven the ship.
From silence comes sound, One cannot know something more profound. One sows now and reaps later, Trying his best to refine his behavior.
I am action, I am change, I have the power to turn the page.
Left, right, up, and down, screens spitting data all around. Is this my thought, his thought, her thought, their's? Kids glued to tablets, nobody cares.
Media has grown too chaotic, Screens are growing more hypnotic. In order to be less robotic, I need to unplug.
Achieve things and go places, Touch milestones and leave traces. Sing your song and make your mark, Prove to all what sets you apart.
Stamp your name across the sky, Embody passion, reaching high. Live each day with firm intention, Leave a rich and bold impression.
Crystal, azure water lies within a bowl. Stirring irritates the liquid, Disrupting the whole.
Have patience, Don't let the water feel restricted. The ripples slow in cadence, Just as I predicted.
Every night, Before it's time for bed, I imagine a shelf, Just above my head.
On this shelf, I place my concerns. Leave worry for tomorrow's me, As today has adjourned.
I'd rather be idealistic and hoping than realistic and coping. I'd rather be original and wishful, Than be an archetypal, cynical, Stereotypical individual.
I'd rather be a slave to dreams Than a slave to money. I'd rather write a story on a mountaintop Than be a cubicle monkey.
The motion of a moving mission Can magnetize, mobilize, Magnify, and multiply Good people all around you— This can carry you the distance.
The smell of a wet sidewalk, The gentle tapping of glass, If these little drops could talk, I wonder what they'd ask.
The wind stole my breath today, Wrapped my face in a shroud. Misty remnants whisked away, Condensed to a runaway cloud.