To My Muse

I dear to set brush fires
in people’s minds!
Revolution is action
upon revelation!

As my little birdie
sat in a cage,
I broke its door,
only to watch it fly away.

I am a free spirit,
my person is a ghostly persona,
The illusion is no long
a solution.

I ask myself
Who am I, to share such word’s
and passions that burn?

I think I am richer than most
with deep thoughts,
and deep pockets for each one
I write.

I’ve got one tear
for each ink smear.

As I bleed black lace,
from my main artery
leading to my heart.
It’s a Gothic wound
stitched together
with my needle of thoughts.

As I set here writing,
My pen laughs at me,
as I scratch and scrape its ink
upon my soul,
it speaks to me.

I a lover to my muse,
a bearer of a darker view.

This is just one of those nights,
When my thoughts
cloud the night sky.

I hold my sword of knightly thoughts,
and my shield of valor
and inky deeds.

Though I never go
without writing
to my muse,
I still dream of a time,
when my pockets will be full.


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