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Imported Poems

Severed Muse

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by
Countess
, 05-20-2007 at 02:38 AM (1162 Views)
I wear a smile on my face,
trying to erase the pain
with a lie, but spiraling inside,
I betray
the bleak landscape
the woeful lamentations
of a solitary mourner.

I stand aside our grave
lay flowers at your feet
and pray for a resurrection.

Will you rise?
Will you rise, oh muse,
to sing my soul alive
to whisper me a sweet melody?

Or will you deprive
- in jest, hate or indifference -
your heavenly fire,
the raging desire
that moves pen on paper
or spills ink across the floor
of my mind.

Within, you have moved Shakespeare
Within, you have moved Yeats and Wilde
Within, you have conjured spirits
of the damned, and by saints divine
possessed, I have scribed
- oh, how I have scribed! -
prose, poetry and rhyme
for your namesake...

To Be Continued...
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Comments

  1. andave_ya's Avatar
    Countess may I suggest something? Relax on the writing and just read for awhile. Recharge.
  2. kiz_paws's Avatar
    Countess, you have captured the essence of what we have all encountered at one time or 'nother. Fear not, you are in the merry cycle of the Writers' Lament. **Hugs** --Kizzo
  3. kathycf's Avatar
    It might be especially hard right now because you miss your son? I think re-charging is a good idea.
  4. Captain Pike's Avatar
    I remember once, in college, I was late for class one day, I was taking a shortcut to try to get there on time. It was early in the year, around that point in the semester when you've had a couple of exams and you know where all your classes are -- you don't need to refer to your schedule anymore. So things were under way, things are going quite well in fact. Anyway, I'm cutting through this field, passing by a building and I happen to glance in a window to an ongoing class. As I continued on my way, the faces in the room still in my minds eye, something seemed oddly familiar. One fellow, I definitely recognized from around campus, maybe he had similar classes as I. And then, all of a sudden, it hits me: that is my drafting class! I went to the first couple of sessions, and then spaced it out, forgot about the class completely! How could I be so stupid, to completely ignore a whole class? No wonder the term seemed to be going so well! I was only doing around three quarters of the work that my peers were doing.

    This is kind of how I feel about your poem. I think I know what is going on with it, and I like it okay, but I'm afraid there's a lot more going on with it that I'm aware of.
  5. Countess's Avatar
    Captain Pike,
    Like your story.
    You're right - there is. It's not just me singing to a dead muse, but the muse is a person who is gone from my life. The graveyard is our relationship - I am the only one in mourning; it seems. He brought Wilde to me, inspired Shakespearean melodies, recalled Yeats' faith. I sung to him from the lofty bowers of poetry, romanced him underneath his window, in the light of a pale moon. Now that he's gone, I have no reason to sing anymore. I stand gazing up at the darkness of an empty window, a window without beauty, without grace, without form.
    To whom do I sing? The only song I know is the monotonous hum of abject melancholy. The Pretty has departed forever.