When the Muse Dies
Pencil in
hand, muse in head,
Thinking of
that which should’ve been said.
You say
your word is your bond
But how
much longer will you string along?
A shroud I
wear trying to grasp at the shadows
The shadows
that ditch and snatch as I gasp for air.
You take
unto yourself the luxuries of life
Chanting
and making notes of all the hearts you break in your wake.
The life
you lead will one day take a toll
As you try
to tell, your stories unfold.
Distinct
measures made on winning you over
Leads to
sentimental trituration of those whose eyes you cover.
The cloud
that masks our vision and the rain that washes our sight
Is enough
to show how much your plight is blight.
You say you
are strong enough to withhold
And the
idea that impregnates you is one that without effort will remain untold.
You push,
you pull, you bend and you break
And an Old
Wife’s Tale puts your memories at stake.
You coax
yourself to believe that which doesn’t exist
You induce
thoughts of what should be real against what isn’t.
You long to
pour out that, which you do not possess,
Because of
the need to become obsessed.
Obsession
with new thrills and the occasional saturnalia
Keeps you
young and fresh, but u never have enough genitalia.
Don’t fight
it, let it happen.
Do not
strangle your unfed impulse
The one you
try to create strenuously
Relax love,
you’re a beautiful soul,
A thrilling
peach, an exotic fruit.
You are
awesome the way you are and the way you are meant to be.
By Zahirah Peynado
