Share/Save/Bookmark
Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search Login Register Extras
Poetry » General » Conversation with a Muse font: B s : A A A . width: full 3/4 1/2
Author: CoolBeans18s
Fiction Rated: K - English - General - Reviews: 15 - Published: 06-04-04 - Updated: 06-04-04 - id:1628254

Sometime, do you wonder

   The muse asks, invigorating

Conversation

-      

   I poured my soul out

for a drop        

            of Gratitude

-

And drank it up for

            4 o'clock tea

   With biscuits

 (the essential  for all those

             of refined taste in

willow bark tears)

-

Blue moons, she replies,

  eyeing your soul over the

rim of her cup

-

  The trees, they weep!

Wind tears

(and tears

it Tears and Tears their souls away)

           their hearts of chloroplasts a and b

-

Leaves flutter off,

            crying for 

   A nightlight,

        how they miss their

Bedtime stories and Arthurian legends!

  And wither from neglect

-

Interesting... do you know

  the tides tell tales? asked her,

She of lacertine mind?

-

  They anagrammed my thoughts!

I weep

  for caged ideas and subtle hints

         And under neath the moon at night

  or day, I cannot tell my eyes

             suffer.

-

You stupid beast, how can

 You cry? She told me Only those

With wings can mourn

-

 I once had wings – they glowed beneath

      inspection.

           Every feather pure and fine and lost

 I sold my soul for chocolate

     - coated expectations and sugar sweetened lies.

-

Before...

-                  I celebrated freedom jumping

       off the tops of insanity frosted

cornflake cereal  

       With 10 more victims!

... I mean vitamins...

              and 3 times the sugar rush

-

Be careful not to step upon

  The skeletons of mice, muttered she, The spirit world

does not respect such trespasses

-

Oh, wise advice!

  I thought

     So many things, I sip

         the cornucopia of stale ideas and fraying threads

And wonder, can I be

       the one that all the others say

                     I resemble? Have I got his

nose? Her lips, his uncle’s brain? I want

 My own. Is that so bad a sin

            that I must stain the yellowed pages

of what I hope is mine?

-

Punishment, whispered back

  An echo of my craz'ed thoughts

I know your face, I see with your

-

Eyes.



© Copyright 2004 CoolBeans18s (FictionPress ID:349521).


Return to Top