When Death Becomes Your Only Muse
When death becomes your only muse
by Robert L. Bixler III
How does one continue to write?
Year by year, you begin to lose
The love of life and quest for right.
Cold, heartless and cynical
You feel yourself becoming evermore
A calculated emotional cannibal.
Days of romance become forever lore.
Your gaze turns from full of life,
As the sun’s rising breath
Brings end to chilly night strife,
And turns toward morbid death.
How does one write of love's abuse
When death becomes your only muse?