My Neglectful Muse

Tragedy strikes a bitter chord

If tragedy, it is

Disinterest in the worldly hoard

A complacent, deadly kiss


It lulls my very soul to sleep

At the beginning of each day

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

But to whom do I truly pray


Rest in Peace, my Love, my Call

Don’t make a fitful sound

Death to one and death to all

Until Silence is crowned


A harsh tone from the lips of Love

Petrifies me in place

I ask myself, “Am I enough?”

And the world responds with, “Checkmate.”


I have forsaken my very words

By allowing them to cease

Feeding Salvation to the birds

With furrowed brow in deeper crease


So now my throat is parched and stale

From my traitorous inaction

Remove the bride and tear the veil

Throw away your capacity for satisfaction


I like to end with a tone

That speaks of a hopeful news

But here, I’ve stood all alone

Without my neglectful muse


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