musing on muses…
May I borrow your muse a while?
Mine slipped out for a cigarette pack.
“We don’t own them, see.” you smile.
Can’t really tell when they’re coming back.
I always suspect they own me.
I try to figure out their ways.
I think they’re really gods, you see.
My head hurts and I’m in a daze.
I’ve met many, more than a few.
Dark Queen, Bright Lady, Wolf and Green Man,
Such varied voices, what to do ?
Follow their lead and obey their command.
They each have different tastes it seems.
I’ve been in graves; I’ve witnessed births,
to seek the words that can redeem
despair and joy for what it’s worth,
the pain it takes to travel dreams.
Uncertainty can make me so
distraught I come apart at seams,
for I don’t know just where they go.
Sometimes they demand sacrifice,
each one a different sort of gift.
It’s hard to know what will suffice.
What present will repair the rift
I feel so often when they go?
I should know they will come back.
It’s hard to trust their motives, though.
I fear I’ll end up as a hack.
~ Wry Welwood
May, 2021
Submitted for the May Writing Experience