I have no muse, oh woe is me
Tis left in morbid slavery
From where O rancid hollow times
can I derive a solid line
that resurrects my fallen pen
and sheds the haunted inks within
I have no muse oh does it live
can there be something else to give ?
Or should I linger in remorse
forfeit the road or shade the course
Alas is it the final share
could life have blown my flowing flare ?
Is it the end, my wrinkled mind's descent ?
withdrawn, amiss, my days are spent
And there I was penning immortal skies
designing every word to never die
and there I am bereft of spillings, drained
uncouth in boundaries, depressed and chained
Oh dying muse, obliterated light
Oh can there be a guidance through the night
A contest entry
- 1000 points, 1000 pws by Shadow Anonymised.
1000 points, ended November 23, 1039 entries
• next poem in this contest, • Add to finalists list, or remove from contest
Take your time, and comment honestly please
Comments
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Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh....your muse has drawn you out in this blood red write
"And there I was, penning immortal skies,
designing every word to never die
and there I am, bereft of spillings, drained
uncouth in boundaries, depressed and chained"
Powerful images and emotive language that we all may feel from time to time when we are 'blocked' but you state it in a new and reflective way. Love this!
Peace, Rhonda
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wow. thats good. its really good.
wow.
i love. i really love. wow...
the old english just adds so much more to it...
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