My Muse Awakens …
The best epiphanies happen at night
The magic when dreamers are left to dream
And writers left to dreaming, will write,—
Whatever their mischievous minds can scheme.
If you are a storyteller please come in.
Sit down near my fire, absorb my whim
This muse of mine has tales he wants to spin
Please if you may, sir or ma’am, Come in! Come in!
My muse awakens, a wicked fellow at times
He guides my pen in poetry
His lyric a songbird’s paradigm,
Humming magic to recycled trees
In verse he lived, when it was just an alphabet
Mixing vowels and consonants together
Some words were embellished, some were real, and yet,
Some were made of the perfect tether.
But words are so guiltless and powerless,
though how potent they are in the wrong hands
So, for those broken pencils, please stay pointless,
Stay bound in your own artistic remands.
Now for me, my echo seeks my shadow,
And in sync they resonate in my darkness.
They bid the oaks for strength, the willows for sorrow
Sometimes it’s fun to muse the whole forest.
Today I believed I was just a poet
But deep down I sought to live out my words
Corrupt my mind with the how’s and whodunits
Fantasize my life in nouns, adjectives and verbs.
Poetry happens with nothing else planned,
thoughts dropped one by one for resolve.
I close my eyes, then my mouth, and I stand
And heed the music where my muse had evolved.