Saying Goodbye To The Muse
it is time to rest this pen,
it has become a bar of steel,
time to rest this mind,
and allow myelf to feel,
feelings not expell,
them onto page,
in primitive poetic rage.
Tired of surviving on praise
which consumes my every
thought and move.
nothing has changed since,
i began to imprint my life,
onto the white of the tree.
Still i cannot speak to those i loved,
hiding behind words that i really want to say.
Addicitions and internal restrictions,
still line my path.
I want to look at the sun and smile,
not retreat to the musty shelter,
and place it rays upon the page.
I want to tell my love how much I care for her,
not seranade a tattered notebook.
Even in sleep i cannot keep the muse quiet.
this is not therapy nor was it ever meant to be.
let this heavy hand stroke her thigh,
instead of my brow and pen.
let this mind create ways of pleasing her,
not appeasing nagging dreams.
Come to me tonight
let us sleep like lovers do.
in each others thoughts.