deepundergroundpoetry.com
Museless
There was a day, once, long ago
That, held in manner of a king,
A prestigious and gaudy show
Was given all who'd hear me sing.
When the whole world would meet my eye,
And whisper soft, my sacred muse…
To delve the sea or paint the sky
With beauty I could not refuse.
But a muse is a fickle thing,
Turn your back once, and watch her flee.
And though by dark I long to sing,
My muse has naught to offer me.
So here I stand, the forest bland,
While not a bird chirps for my soul;
And bear this silence, as a brand,
On lips that once ambition stole.
With gift in hand, a lover’s pen…
What use? The page glares at me stark.
A fast faded “remember when”
Stirs brief passion, but leaves no mark.
No thought, per chance... no grief, nor toil
Taken to heart dons word to page.
No vapid joy will time recoil
To vindicate this silent stage.
As doubt creeps in, and with despair
Progress the chains from mind to will,
In giving in, I must declare
By emptied flask, by tethered quill—
By vacant sky, bedeviled sea—
By all around me growing black,
This world has nothing left for me,
My muse is never coming back!
Published 28th Aug 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 3
reading list entries 0
comments 6
reads 695
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
28th Aug 2015 2:59pm
What a great way to start this with the first stanza, the opening lines perfectly penned to unravel.
It's interesting how you weave the imagery in and yet at the same time note the non-inspiration, the acute sadness and hopelessness.
I believe what you have here is so relatable to most that I'm quite drawn to it with your well crafted wording. Nicely done Michael.
It's interesting how you weave the imagery in and yet at the same time note the non-inspiration, the acute sadness and hopelessness.
I believe what you have here is so relatable to most that I'm quite drawn to it with your well crafted wording. Nicely done Michael.
1st Sep 2015 00:10am
Thank you do much Rina, for the visit and the reply. Was in the midst of a horrid bout with writer's block when this came about. It proved a long hard write, (plea and tribute to my muses I suppose) but in the end it seemed to cure it. They returned. :)
Michael
Michael
31st Aug 2015 12:54pm
*sigh*
oh mister sighs, whatever am i going to do with you... too many feels here, amico mio. i may need to insist on sharp [&] pointy heart shards herein warnings ...
"By emptied flask, by tethered quill—
By vacant sky, bedeviled sea—
By all around me growing black,
This world has nothing left for me,
My muse is never coming back!"
... tsunami in my coffee cup for this, for you, your heart, your muse
xoxox
oh mister sighs, whatever am i going to do with you... too many feels here, amico mio. i may need to insist on sharp [&] pointy heart shards herein warnings ...
"By emptied flask, by tethered quill—
By vacant sky, bedeviled sea—
By all around me growing black,
This world has nothing left for me,
My muse is never coming back!"
... tsunami in my coffee cup for this, for you, your heart, your muse
xoxox
1st Sep 2015 00:19am
Thank you dear Katja, for being here at a time when those closest and most trusted in my life have truly abandoned me...my muses included, as if there were a difference. Your comments always bring me a smile. At least I can still count on that. :)
Michael
Michael
2nd Sep 2015 10:51pm
Probably one of the saddest, most well written poem I have read in recent memory.
3rd Sep 2015 2:22am
Ah, I thank you for stopping by my page, Dpw, and for the wonderful compliment. :)
Michael
Michael
