Echoes & Currents/Wanderer’s Demon

Echoes and currents of thoughts and ideas, of dreams that died and words left unsaid.

The regrets that haunt my sleep and rattle around inside my head.

Ephemeral currents of sadness too deep, of happiness unknown, and this anger I keep.

It’s like a ghost on my shoulder, the demon that speaks, it provides unspeakable inspiration, yet the cost is too steep.

The exile is lonely, the wanderer is cold, I stumble through this night, and all I want…

All I want is a home.

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A Return and Recognition

Shuddering shaking and shivering in fear, the tapping, tapping that I hear so near.

The fear has returned, my bloodied muse at my back, her tortured hands upon my neck as her twisted  face a broken smile  of recognition.

Such a saddened thing at the return of my grim fate.

Lashed to the page, chained to the well, my pen drips the black ink, the color of my soul that I know so, so well.

My form ephemeral, my purpose not set, I am the writer, to my muse, a fond pet.

She neither cares for me, nor clothes me, or sees to my feed, for she devours not but fear and twisted dreams, and it seems, to me, expects myself to do the same.

Sorrow

You see my friend the voices are back, they chat and whisper so.

They show me shadows, the twists in the light and tell me secrets only they do know.

They feed on sorrow, this pain I know so well, and turn this to words and worlds, stories and poems to share and tell.

The sorrow is my mistress, my creator and my muse, without I’d be little at all, it defines me so.

Chorus of Echoes (Thoughts on Music)

The echoes reverberate all around, the chorus of music, that symphony of sound.

The choir does sing and the band does play and all we want to do is dance to the tune, to sing and sway.

The echoes reverberate all around, the chorus of music, that symphony of sound.

It worms its way inside my heart, inside my soul, breaking through that dark and sorrowful glow, until once more the smile within again does revive enough to show.

The smile does gleam as I sway to the sound, as I move to the chorus of echoes, that symphony that does cradle and surround.

Music is a relief, a release and way to meet, a way to meet my muse I love, that muse I adore.

Who once again rests upon my shoulder, whispering sweet inspiration into my ear one more.

Two Muses

I have muses, two, one is kind and bright but weary of life. The other is not born of me, not inside my mind, but within my soul, it is the drag of life, the scars that don’t show. The pain that burns, that sears my mind and poisons me so, it builds and builds until the dams must burst and wounds re-open unless I purge and let it go, fearful of not indulging that poison muse for fear of making the pain worse. A cruel task master, the whip wielded by life, it cracks and sears upon my soul and upon my mind until I take up the pen, the ink my own life blood and jot my pain, my agony upon paper with words and deed, letting the poison out, sewing the seeping wound once more with words for all to see.

For the Glory of My Muse

Out of hope, and out of time, this life of mine it’s empty, it’s bleak but I’ll find my way

My way to that glory at the mountain, that light found at morning’s peak

I’ll stop my mourning, I’ll stop my sorrow, I’m sorry I’m not sorry but it’s done now it’s over

I can’t do it anymore this mad dash for inspiration has left me empty, my muse is weary

The words I write do get so bleary, she’s tired of my dreary ways and she’s so thin

Her skin is wrinkled and she’s wasted away, she’s no longer young like she was that day

That day I decided that my path was right this path I write and I never knew it was wrong

How I mistreated, how I would write something only for it be trashed, deleted

I spurned my muse, and second guessed my nature, and now I’m in that shadowed valley

With fear looming over me, I take another step, upon those stairs leading to the peak

Outside of this darkness this mourning bleakness, wearied and depressed my muse is mute

But I know what to do, I know how to fix it, turn my back on the shadow and walk to the light once more.

I’ll find what I need to make my muse laugh and smile, and be like what we had before when she whispered those stories of old forgotten years into my head, my sleeping ear

The trip won’t be easy, she’s telling me not to go not to risk my gift that gift that I spurned by trying to this thing, this thing outside my nature

But you see I must, this mourning is tiring and sorrows are getting droll I see my muse getting old and we haven’t lived even a half-life as of yet this isn’t a choice but a task

So, out of hope and out of time I’ll find a way to carry this empty life of mine to that glory on the mountain, that light found at the top of morning’s peak

Perhaps once that light baths over us once again, once again to me my muse will speak, that’s all I want, all I need, to hear my muse again, to hear her speak

 

Behind my Eyes (My Muse does Laugh)

The shadows are in my mind, behind my eyes

The itch is there, in my fingertips

I see a story, barely forming

Waiting to be born

I want to hasten it, make it quicken its turn

But alas, however much I try it comes no faster

It will come in due time, and not a moment before

Yet I can hear my muse laugh in my ear

As I sit and wait, a day, a year

The story I need, the story I want

Its there, right behind my eyes

It makes my fingers itch, with want, with need

To fulfill the story, to make it breathe

But it sits, a seed inside my mind

Waiting til the time is right

For me to let the words in

For me to give it life