Wednesday, November 16, 2011

The Muse

My Muse is still alive,
Breathing, gasping,and persevering;
A hungry callus of throbbing dead cells
Nostrum to the paraplegia of our united dreams...
It's lying on the grass, gazing up to the sky
Etching a new dream, with the palette in it's eyes
Living a life, fresh out of the pages
Of  a new diary, or a receding sigh.

Who are you?
The shapeless shapes in your comatose visions.
Where are you?
Somewhere in the recesses of your epicure mind.
How are you?
Alive and breathing...
Dreaming of a clear blue sky.
A blessing, in the form of a quasi memory...
Running away from the islands of qualms,
Rushing headlong to forget.
But the Muse is still alive,
Aiding to not abet,

Egging me on to forget...
The scenes from the life
My Muse begets.

A splattered raindrop and gravity's corsette,
Squeezing it down, drying away in its own footsteps...
The Muse shall build, the Muse shall erase.

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