Amusements
Who will be my muse today?
Who wants to come out and play... with me?
Who will guide my good pen, caress my fingers,
And leave in the wake a poem that lingers?
Will it be a child of nature, one of her trees or flowers,
A towering thunderstorm, maybe just a precocious breeze?
Will it be ocean bright days full of sand and misty memories
Breaking on the shores of my heart in swelling waves?
Who will be my muse tonight?
Who wants to come into the light... and play?
Who will ignite flickering candles of inspiration,
Lend me a few pages of luminous dictation?
Will it be a star shining in my mind, a crescent moon
New in the sky, owl on the wing, a desperate sobbing sigh?
Will it release me from the past with a feather gentle blast,
My old reflections now purely seen in a different glass?
Who will be my muse?
Who will come to amuse me?
Who will incite the fires of creation,
Laughing with pearls of wise dictation?
Will it be something inside of me, crying to be heard,
A silent scream of urgency compelling me to look, and see?
That all I ever needed is here inside where I dug those graves?
No tombstones herald the spots of these cemetery plots.
Who is my muse? Whomever I chose... or who choses me.
Really! Yes, really! All the same, just this one great cosmic game,
Transcendence whispering, "Just be and be free."
We know, we have heard all the cliches
Used to inspire us out of the societal maze
That seeks to trap us in gloomy parasitical caves
Of illusion... until we reach that same sudden conclusion.
"What sudden conclusion might that be?" you ask.
It is knowing that I can no longer live as who I am not.
No matter what it takes I must make a most excellent escape
From the unmarked plots and coffins of compromise,
Lying patient, waiting deep inside...
Of me, myself and I.
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