Monthly Archives: February 2014

The Importance of Muse (6)

In the infinite chaos of perpetually recycled stardust,

The remnants of the big bang reveal to me secrets,

Long misunderstood,

There is an order created by the Ether,

Readily apparent to those who have vision,

Versus those who merely see,

Those who listen,

Versus those who merely hear,

For out in that dark void there exists a vibrancy,

Resonating inside the souls of poets since time immemorial,

A resplendent beauty that unlocks a passion necessary,

To adulate the treasured honour of Muse’s presence,

Your presence,

I adore you,

I love you,

Figurative and literal,

In ways you will never, could never understand,

Despite these hopeless attempts to be

Conduit for the invisible,

Muse,

Not just the royal you, so often presented,

But the perfectly imperfect package,

That stands before me at the ready,

Laying bare your soul,

That I too may do the same,

As these words require

And my literary masters demand.

As said before,

Here, time and again,

The importance of Muse can not be inconspicuous,

For she is an overstatement of all that I deign necessary,

To prevent my emotional suicide,

Loosing my gift in a series of meager attempts,

To force what is not there,

In her absence,
Your absence,
I am nothing but a fool with words,

Though when she comes,

Touching me deep with in,

Those words spill out from me,

Seductive and instructive,

More readily than I can breathe,

Effortless as her inspiration unlocks the key,

That liberates my creative flow,

Endless,

Ebb and rip,

The gravity of her presence,

The tides lead me away from my inner storm,

Toward an awaiting Nirvana,

Whereby the touch of her lips,

Is the ambrosia from which I drink,

Understanding completely the full nature of love,

One only understood by those caught in the rapture,

And endless delight,

Of that perfect phrase,

Capturing a spirit that only you can see,

Only I,

Can see,

Muse!

It so often seems,

That between those moments,

Where splendor presents itself in veiled opportunities,

That the broken shards of me,

Cut deep,

Sending me further into an abyss,

A loving idiot savant,

Where my Black Dog howls,

As I plead with the Ether,

And my Ladies of the night,

Serendipity, Destiny and Fate,

To once more grace me,

Instruct and guide me,

To that necessary ingredient,

Muse,

Which fuels these tomes,

Endless,

An expected necessity,

Cherishing what I see,

What I know,

What I am,

Words,

Wordsmith of Muse.

 

Your importance,

Is akin to a mother’s milk,

To a new born child,

A pirouette to a ballerina,

A canvas to Picasso,

And a great green light for Gatsby,

And yet tragically,

My providence,

As guided by that frenzied Ether I so adore and praise,

Finds me Daisy,

Rather than as a star cross’d lover,

And yet I persist,

I rise,

I look to the heavens,

Praising even the momentary glimpse,

Of true beauty,

Inside your soul,

Muse,

That either none have, could or can see,

But I,

Guided by nature’s call to enthused benevolence,

To touch another as they touch me,

As you touch me,

So yes, Muse,

Your importance is greater than you may ever know.
Constantly,

I find myself in a state of flux,

A perilous and hazardous precinct,

Where my greatest wish,

Becomes my greatest downfall,

Always has been,

Since as early as the Ether first blessed me,

With these heart-rending efforts,

Dancing to the elegance of these ethereal gifts,

Presented by the Ether,

In a form that could only be you,

Muse,

For even those few moments,

Where I get to bask in the sentiments,

Those I crave more than anything else,

Even if for a panicked instant,

As I contemplate the predictable disappearance,

As happens each and every time,

Just as quickly as you arrived,

The infinitely obvious precision of my life,

Abandoned,

Left with these words as evidence,

Of a true gem,

Gems,

The very real importance of Muse,

If I am to survive,

Non Omnis Moriar.

 

Muse,

You are at once my everything,

And nothing,

For I can only seize,

What the Ether permits,

And it is a fickle master,

Guiding these fingers,

As they flicker with the genius, you inspire,

To some the foundation of a delusion of grandeur,

Those that could never understand,

For at least a while,

Never quite long enough,

Making the best of it,

As I bask in the prismatic resplendence of your soul,

The radiance of your smile,

The intense secrets behind those dancing eyes,

And the subtle way that even the simple act of walking,

Can alight in me an abstract prospect,

Captured in an instant, herein,

For you,

For posterity,

For you are Muse,

And without you,

I am lost in Dante’s circles of Hell,

As Virgil laughs,

And The Lost Generation once more consoles me.

 

With an intense vanity,

I fumble like a school child,

Scribbling outside the lines,

Hoping that you might see,

That Pandora’s curiosity,

Resulted in the very box that needs to be open,

If I am to thrive,

If I am to know genuine bliss,

For that is truly what you force me to aspire,

Climbing higher and higher,

Inside a drug induced fury,

Of pheromones clashing,

Serotonin dashing,

Dopamine slashing and adrenaline rushing,

And yet,

Like Hemingway’s haunting presence in my life,

That one true sentence,

That might finally get you,

Royal or otherwise,

Muse,

To see,

To feel,

To believe,

To hold fast,

Might understand,

What even I myself can not,

Me,

If I am to thrive,

It is only Muse,

Because of you,

All I imagine,

All you are.

The importance of Muse,

Of you,

Royal and otherwise,

Creates all I am,

All I will ever be,

The dutiful secretary,

Of the Ether’s grace,

Giving me moments of significance,

That are entirely dependent,

On you,

Muse!

SDM

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized