Tag Archives: Muse

Visions of Muses

 

From deep within the terrifying yet oft exhilarating infinite limits,

Limitless,

Of Escher labyrinths,

This lost and found boy;

 

A chosen light, stirred, awakened, ignited;

S C R eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee A M S upon shattered bone yards

Of rhetoric,

Meteoric echoes of a boy confined in a mans body;

Though not his own,

Not mine, not now, not ever;

I and I and I,

Beyond comprehension as

Concentric circles collide,

Like the infinite loops of the Typhon, reminiscent of oracles,

Delphic;

 

Non Omnis Moriar, Non Omnis Moriar,
Non,

Omnis,
Moriar.

 

Cerebus, as always,

Chuckles as Orthus orbits death,
“Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.””

 

Reluctantly as yet without possibility beyond the foretold,

Alpha to Omega , Beta to Theta,

Gamma and everything in between,

Immortality now, sound bytes at a time,

Selfies and facebook posts;

The rush of fools, errands, errant,

Living for the dying, despicable pawns, in a cosmic quandary,

Little boy lost,

Here;

Doing societal laundry.

Moriar,

Omnis,
Non,

Trailing backwards granted powers beyond omnipotence,

As strange fruit hangs from trees,

The hollowed out trunks of spirits subdued, blackened by soot,

While Mississippi burns and the ashes pure,

White like a forest of birch,

The touch of the divine.

 

Asphalts stained with progress and hotter than the sun,

Reveal devilish intents, malcontents and miscreants,

Pugilistic linguists portend of a cunning,

Whereby they knowingly, willingly, crazily,

Cut off their noses to spite their faces,

A pound of flesh no more nor less.

 

While Lamia plots her nine course meal,

Virgil awaits her intrigue,

Delectable feasts for the sins of the father

Are revisited on the kindred innocent,

With Harpies as footservants and wolves as maître ds’.

 

The Sirens call, serially,

Sailing me to the edges of a vile torment,

One that was created a moment before my consciousness,

Primordially secreted and passed on,

As I too have done; Realizing I am

Left in a rowboat,

Steering for the rocks,

Bubbling discontent like an effervescent pill,

Bitter,

Locked inside…

 

Then,

With a heralds cry,

Hark,

Love,

Like a resounding vision,

In words, deeds and sensational vibrations,

Draws me near,

Pulls me, all of me,

I and I and I from the gauntlet,

Embraces every atom of my being,

And in that instant I understand,

The universal discourse,

Treatise and song,

That brought me back from the edge,

Void of reason,

Want or desire,

Other than the pure radiance and resplendence,

Of an authentic life,

Lived genuinely,

Advancing,

Choosing now to actively avoid the prison of my emotional suicide,

Instead practicing abstinence from it,

By being I and I and I,

And,

Creating,

s e r e n d i p i t y,

s e r e n i t y,

Love and L I G H T!

Sender D. MacLean

 

(Inspired by a good friend who gave me the following words; serendipity effervescent labyrinth abstinence rhetoric and the song)

 

 

 

 

 

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Neurotic Delusions, Grandeur and Love

 

232

How did I love you?

Those who saw the diamond through the coal,

With all of what I am,

Muses all,

How did I worship the very ground you walked on?

Praising your feelings,

Bowing to your desires,

And every whim,

How did I love you?

Do I love you…

The only way I know,

The way that you forgot,

Unconditionally,

And without equivocation,

For I am love,

Love I am AND

Love repeats

Inside concentric circles AND

Is rarely black and white…

Though hands outstretched I continued on,

Seeking the one,

She,

Muse,

That would liberate my soul,

Free my mind AND

Alight my every desire.

How did I love you?

For when our eyes met,

And your spirit dangled before me,

Muse (s),

I had no other choice,

But to fall,

Hard into you,

The way the universe seemed to be speaking to me,

Invisible vibrations settling frayed nerves,

Through you,

That I would abandon me,

So that I could have you,

The mistakes I made,

Now obvious,

As you let go,

Each of you,

Just in time,

For my mind to plot a new course,

In your heart,

No longer loving me,

Or so you said,

Leaving my neurosis to consider,

Once love bestows,

Can it simply disappear,

Back into the Ether from whence it came,

Or does it remain,

Inside our DNA,

Surely revealing a divine plan,

That is neither black nor white.

How did I love you?

Completely,

Parts of me still wondering,

What went wrong?

Knowing all along the answer,

Is that my mind,

No longer numb from the drugs and the drinking,

Had given way,

To something you couldn’t recognize,

Something you couldn’t,

You wouldn’t deal with,

Leaving me abandoned,

With the greatest fear I have ever had,

That I am not good enough,

Oh how did I love you?

How did we get to here?

This crossroads of our own survival,

Our mutual creative thrusts,

No longer mutual,

You fighting for your delusions,

Following your dream,

Loosing me forever,

I and I and I fighting my delusions,

The unintended consequence,

Of your decision and ripe cancellation,

Left me fighting for my sanity,

My toe clearly in the water,

As I let go,

Completely,

Of myself,

To be with you,

Left reeling now,

Forced to imagine what my life had become,

I and I and I crying out;

What has life become?

So plain to see,

But while you were looking,

You couldn’t see,

What was there,

Right in front of you,

Now vanished,

Like the tomes I wrote of our love,

How did we come to here?

Something snapped,

My synapses firing less than wondrously,

The brain affected by something,

As two hemispheres,

Left and right battle daily,

With demons that you never saw,

I never showed you,

The royal you,

For;

How could I?

As it would have interfered with what you dreamed of,

What dreams may come,

You would have lost focus,

And in the end,

You did lose focus,

On the one person that loved without condition,

From once upon a time,

To the end of my days,

So too did I,

And I and I,

Lose,

Control,

Of that which I value so dearly,

This mind,

This beautiful and tortured mind,

A Shakespearean Tragedy and fault all at once,

Cracked,

But not the code,

For the Ether still had and has in store,

A magnanimousness that even I cannot comprehend,

For when the Sirens sing,

I row away from the shore,

Seeking the enduring strength,

To ever more press on.

Inside,

I felt beaten by love,

Drowned in insecurities,

Anxious that I was not good enough,

Would never be good enough,

That finally,

My mind,

Had let go,

And I was about to be thrust to the other side,

The name that dare not speak itself,

And yet,

It was howling in my ears,

Twenty four hours a day,

Sleep at a premium,

If for only twenty minutes at a time,

Inside,

I was yet to understand,

That I was,

And would,

If I didn’t address it now,

Slip forever,

Into insanity,

And so,

Without you,

I sought the help I needed and need,

So that I can reclaim my life.

Reclaim and rebirth.
The gray matters of the heart and soul,

Seeking not a straight line,

But the road less travelled.

My Black Dog,

Said before and will again,

A rabid bitch,

She defies logic,

And escapes reason,

She demands that I sit silent,

Isolated,

Alone,

Sullen emancipation,

From the rules that bind all of you,

For at first,

While I was embarrassed,

Ashamed and frightened by what was happening,

I came to understand,

Through endless dialogue,

With a brilliant sage, sages,

That this curse,

As I have referred to it time and again,

This blessing and curse,

Is the battleground of my own survival?

At least with this mind.

Neurotic,

Depressed (not sad as many a Muse has maintained),

Bi Polar,

Hyper Mania,

OCD,

Murmur,

Seizures,

And more,

The laundry list of my body’s contempt,

For this mind,

This beautiful mind,

And warrior poet soul,

Ether,

Though this scorn,

Is nothing like the other contempt I have endlessly known,

Nor does this contempt define me,

I will not,

Could not,

I WON’T allow contempt to control or destroy me,

No I will fight,

I WILL FIGHT,

A war consistent, that paints itself here,

For all to see,

My contempt palpable,

For what this beautiful mind is trying to do,

And is in fact,

And then there is Muse…

Muse,

Her subtle fingerprints,

All over my words,

Since the day I entreated her to flutter into my being,

Her soul dancing with mine,

Painting pictures of imagined futures,

Though none as marvelous,

As just one simple kiss,

That settles in me a passion,

A passion others have known,

Though this time,

There is something ripened about it,

As if the cancellations of my past,

Have somehow taught me,

Not to give up,

Not to give in,

Instead,

To give completely,

To share,

Whether good or bad,

Exactly who and what I am,

Finding acceptance in her smile,

Finding strength in her eyes,

Finding solace when she touches my hand,

Sending me to a repose I’ve never known.

Muse,

Passion renewed,

Desire quenching my souls ache,

To be touched and to touch another,

In such a way,

That their entire day is lifted,

Their entire life finds new meaning,

All of who they are,

Not tied up to who you are,

Instead,

Together,

Creating an individualism,

That because of new love may emerge,

Muse,

New Muse,

She brings to me,

A renewed passion,

I bequeath these humble words to thee

And the beautiful love,

Already created in your image,

That now shines on me.

Millions of words,

Stained by love,

These words,

Since my journey of self discovery began,

All those years ago,

Repeated,

Out of the ashes of a love destroyed,

By malignant neglect,

This Little Prince rises,

To meet the challenges,

Of the voices in my head,

As I humbly submit,

To you.

SDM

Written from photo prompt at http://www.magpietales.blogspot.com/2014/08/mag-232.html .

Some of the best writing on the net.

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Lost Generation (2)


I no longer wish to cradle you in my arms,
For the body electric is gone,
Reminisces of once held soul mate,
That now seeks life on her own,
Knowing that you had to do what you did,
Without knowing why,
Is precisely why I am moving on,
Why I no longer wish the body electric,
With you,
Abandoned at the moment I most needed you,
When you most needed me,
With reckless disregard,
Self loathing and fear,
I now stand as champion of my own soul,
My own advance,
Creating a new body electric,
Fueled by Tesla, Hemingway and more,
Those voices,
They continue to speak to me,
Smack me, jar and jam me,
In ways you never did,
In ways you never could,
They grow louder each day as I grow ever closer,
To the realization of a new love,
A self love,
So that I may again learn to love another,
The one I now believe I see,
My first love and hopefully my last love,
A paradigm shifted,
By all misunderstood,
These words that I caress just as deftly as I had you,
These words that I twist and turn into beautiful elements,
Of a life worth living,
For in now accepting what and who I am,
And what I did and why I had to support you,
I am free to enhance the calling,
I will answer the clarion call of the giants in my mind,
In the pursuit of happiness and love,
In pursuit of Muse,
She, herself,  calls out for me to listen to the Lost Generation,
Though she misunderstands them and perhaps even me,
Transplant myself back to the age I should have been born,
And that I now live daily in my mind,
Paris, 1923
Over in the corner,
Picasso is holding court with a bevy of ladies,
As always,
A few men try to enter the fray and are shunned away,
As always,
By twirling fingers of fantastic delight,
As always…

Gertrude approaches me first,
Entreating me to sit with her for a glass of red wine;
“As you well know Sir, one of the pleasant things those of us who write or paint do is to have the daily miracle. It does come.”
The words fall from her mouth,
As an entrenched philosophy,
An esoteric Ether that empowers me,
But appear like Victoria or Angel falls,
Monumental in that Stein is always right,
Well,
More often than not.
She continues;
“An audience is always warming but it must never be necessary to your work.”
I ask;
“Do you feel I need an audience?”
“Not at all,” she assures me,
“Just remember, that your words are you, you are your words,
and nobody, anywhere, can change that.”
I deeply inhale my Cuban cigar and find myself looking for the familiar,
Calling out for a scotch,
With that, I hear F. Scott off in a corner;
“Have you proven yet that Gatsby is not the greatest character?”
As I approach I can hear him laughing;
“Surely you are a greater character than Jay?”
“Frankly,” I reply,
“I am not from any Egg, east nor west, but I am certain that Jay is still the greatest…”

F. Scott scoffs at me as a mother a child,
Scolding me for something I have done something in err,
As far as I remember is human, no?

“What is wrong with you boy, it’s up to you, write.”
Pensively I stare into the void between F. Scott and my face,
“You don’t believe it is that easy?”
“Well we’ll never know until you write it will we?”
I nod my head partially frightened but truly elated,
“The world only exists in your eyes.
You can make it as big or as small as you want.”
He says kindly,
“Create the world you want to create and make it BIG…”
F. Scott clearly enjoying his treatise goes on;
“An author ought to write for the youth of his own generation,
the critics of the next, and the schoolmaster of ever afterwards.”
I fire back without hesitation;
“But I am not in my youth anymore…”
He angrily interrupts;
“Son, you are a writer, you are in your youth evermore.”

Apparently Zelda had had quite enough and as many times before,
As always before,
Takes me by the hand and leads me to an empty space,
Invisible pheromones clashing,
As Muse reenters my mind,
No music is playing except for the soft rush of wind,
Against the storied cobblestones of Paris’ Left Bank;
“He is right you,” she says,
“About?” I inquire.
“His advice to you, is right on.
You are youthful, have you looked in a mirror lately?”
“Zelda” I say, “Are you hitting on me?”
She replies; “No, well maybe,
yet, have you looked in the mirror?
I have seen twenty year olds that don’t have the baby face you do
and what’s more Jay may, or may not be, the greatest character,
but you have it in you to write that character and the time is now.
What are you waiting for?”

Together we swayed back and forth,
Not as lovers dancing more like a father with his daughter bride,
And Zelda started to hum,
Knowing something was coming I steadied my nerves,
For when she hums,
Zelda hums,
As the Ether beckons,
“Most people hew the battlements of life from compromise,
erecting their impregnable keeps from judicious submissions,
fabricating their philosophical drawbridges from emotional retractions
and scalding marauders in the boiling oil of sour grapes. ”
She twirls me gently;
“No sour grapes Sender, live, live, live.”
As I reach the pinnacle of the twirl she releases me…

So I drift over to T.S. who sits pensively;
“You come to us, daily,
or rather it is we who come to you,
we know you are searching,
you know you are searching but I wonder…
Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out
how far one can go.
How far are you willing to go my boy?”

The voices in my head determined today to make me think,
As always,
Forcing me into intellectual corners that I’d rather not be in,
Boxed,
“As far as is necessary,” I assure him, “further if possible.”
“You look stunned young man…
the best advice I can ever give you consists in this…
If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.
Be poignant. Be selective. Be you and write.”

The sun had long since set,
Paris revealing that majestic splendor of its thousands year old history,
With deafening shadows and perfumed stains of life,
This was the Paris we all loved,
The Paris we lived for,
The Paris that always exists in our minds,
As we all stood there in a faith shaking silence,
Our talent, ability and joie de vive,
We knew it could not last,
But we would fight,
To the death,
Refusing to grow up,
While trying not to get old,
Though our words may live forever,
We know,
We shall not.

NON OMNIS MORIAR…

With a telling glance and a tip of my cap I walk away,
Over to my literary father,
Hemingway with a slap on my back and a firm grip of my hand,
Looked on with child like wonder,
At the sight of Paris on this most perfect Summer dusk,
“Sender, you realize we won’t always be here?”
I laughed,
As I wondered how a figment of my overworked mind could express,
That he knew better than I,
As always,
How long they would or would not be there;
As always,
“I assure you Ernest, you will always be with me…”
“Not as now…and that is why you must know…
We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.
I was a failure and so too will you be,
if you can’t finally unleash the  fuming literary beast inside you.”

He continued;
“Every man’s life ends the same way.
It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another. How are you going to live your life?
How are you going to distinguish yourself?”
He repeated this line over and over,
As always
For what seemed like hours,
And Paris slowly transformed into Laos,
And I am brought back to this place and time,
So that I can finally distinguish,
Myself.

The voices,
These voices,
Those sing the praises of a life worth living,
Are my daily reminder,
My daily escape,
And my daily reminder,
That we are all put on this earth to do something,
Not just anything,
Something,
Whether to paint, write, sing, dance, whatever it may be,
And should we refuse to answer that calling,
Our lives,
Will be less than they should be,
Love, Family and the words,
The voices of the Lost Generation,
Are my clarion calls to a brilliant masterpiece,
And I don’t know what I would do without them,
Save,
That I am sure I would go mad.

SDM

Lost Generation (1)

https://senderupwords.wordpress.com/2013/10/09/lost-generation-found-love/

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Lost Generation (Found Love?)

  

If I could cradle you again in my arms,

Like these past weekend,

A lifetime shared in beautiful moments,

Collected,

Feel the body electric between us,

Soul mates now advance,

Or is it depart,

Apart yet together,

Knowing that you feel you have to to do what you’re doing,

Without knowing why,

And refusing to see the truth

I too must now move on,

Progress to the conviction,

That it is no contradiction,

That this can be,

Sing my own body electric,

For you,

For the rest of the world to see,

Let the voices in my head,

And the Ether,

The giants of my craft,

Use me as their conduit that I may produce,

My epic,

These stories,

Unearth for the world,

The universe,

The truths of these demons,

Those come dressed to me in tuxedos and ball gowns,

Entreating me to dance the love hypnotic,

Can you be hypnotized,

Captivated,

Enraptured in these emotions rare,

A virtual green fairy, produced,

Inside my own mind,

Expose that my calling once ignored,

Save for the women of my Muse delight,

Is now the central feature of a life lived?

Am I now complete?
Not without you!

In the pursuit of happiness and love,

For others,

Without acknowledging what I need,

Thinking of the Lost Generation,
Living with them,

Drinking, eating and partying,

My delusions,

I can feel Zelda’s breath on my neck,

As she whispers sweet everything’s in my ear,

As I wish you would, and have,

I can hear Pablo as he twirls his fingers,

Explaining the abstract,

To those that will never get it,

But he will get them,

He persists,

Determined little bastard,

Note to self;

Become a determined little bastard,

Gertrude takes me by the hand,

Walks me to the Seine,

Waves her arms dramatically and says;

“This is the river of your discontent;

Let it ebb and flow,

As true as the words you write,

And you will find,

Find you will,

The answers that you seek,”

 

In the corner F. Scott and Ernest are laughing,

Drawing me near,

With their alcohol blemished wisdom,

Just as my own,

The sage like discord you’d expect from giants,

Of personality, spirit, mind and life itself,

Ernest in earnest,

Says to me;

“Go on Son, the world is your oyster;

It is time for you to find a pearl,

A pearl you must,

Travel far and wide,

Inside your mind and in the world,

Find your voice,

Your voice,”

F. Scott scoffs;

“My boy,

It is time for you,

Time for only you,

Live gloriously,

Fabulously,

Relentlessly,

Find your inner playboy,

And reveal to me that Jay is not the greatest character,

Reveal to me that you are the chosen light,

Reveal it to the world,

They are waiting.”

In unison they declare;

“She is waiting for you… you just need to find her.”

So I smirk,

As I realize that my joy,

Is in these words,

My love is in these words,

Abundant and without end,

Just as my love has always been for you,

Proverbial and literal.

As F. Scott finishes Pound rounds the corner,

Slaps me on the back and says;

“Wisdom they impart,

Is only that, which you may find,

Your fingers dance,

Your mind is a beautiful tangled and intertwined tango,

Easy for you,

Now you must find your flamenco,

Do with these words,

What you will,

Go wise young man;

For you are one of us,

Truly.”

With that,

I am brought back to this world,

To this time,

The present,

Where I must find my way,

Find my way,

To excellence,

Personal greatness,

Where I can find you,

Literal,

That we may both shine,

Basking in the glory of love,

Of life,

Of uncertainty,

And find that I may triumph,

In spite of my black dog,

The curse of depression,

Repressed,

By you, for you, with you,

If you’d let me,

What if man never dreamed of the stars?

Never dreamed of flight?
Of going under the sea?

Of being a family man,

With love and a true life,

What more matters?

To wit,

We all raise and glass and say;

“LIVE…”

SDM

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My Name is Sender…

Lend me your eyes;

Hi, my name is Sender and I have a problem,

Problems…

My life recorded invisibly on my body,

You can not see,

Or fathom,

Indelibly on my soul,

Like a crown of thorns,

Though you have already embraced it,

And ganders through the disjointed cracks of my prismatic heart,

And someday,

Should you be so lucky,

You might know me in a way that so few can or will;

Should you be so lucky?

I hope that one could be so lucky,

Muse,

Who now come, seems so ready to depart,

Afraid of the possibility, possibilities,

Departure delayed, arrival uncertain,

Yet,

You may find that I will endure beseeching you,

Imploring and enticing you,

Silently,

In words like these,

To approach my story,

With a vulnerable mind and a sacred heart,

So that I can show you what I already know,

Just as you do,

These feelings are not the imaginary dalliances

Of delusion,

Rather the infusion of the Ether’s calling.

There are lashes, gashes, cuts and bruises,

Beyond the eyes comprehension,

Those never heal,

There are torments and tortures,

I would wish upon none but me,

Those never heal,

For though the blessing and curse exist in me,

Bipolar dualities,

This Warrior Poet, fights on,
GO BRAGH;

Shattered glass heart and malfunctioning dreams.

That you never see,

Though you may feel, if, perchance,

You had the bravery,

The courage to risk it all for happiness,

As so often I do,

To stand exposed, as I am at this moment,

Though, should you find that power,

You may experience with me,

Should you be so inclined,

Touched by me as I long to touch you,

Reliving daily,

Seconds, minutes, hours and days,

In rapid succession those moments that brought me here,

Now,
Muse,

Tracing my restlessness with rabid delights,

Delights like you,

Muse…

My fingers like Picasso’s brush,

And Van Gogh palette,

My authenticity falsely imprisoned in cubist fragments,

A sick joke played by my psyche as

My veracity self realized,

And abused,

Calls forth the divine intention of a personal gentrification,

You may unearth,

That when I implore you,

I am pained beyond words,

Except when I see your smile,

From those big brown eyes

And your radiant soul,

While revealing to you I am stretched across my canvas,

At your behest,

I am thrust into the eye of the storm,

That life has constantly divulged to me,

Dark clouds, gathering and furious storms

And my Black Dog.

As soon as one episode ends without a laugh track,

Another begins,

Up and down,

Down and up,

A silent movie,

While Charlie Chaplin prays us smile,

I can paint a smile on my face,

Rehearsed and like a costume, hiding,

It does little to conceal my contempt,

For this plight,

I am caught inside the cage where the bird cannot,

Does not,

Will not sing,

Though the beautiful song is so clear,

All I need do is vocalize it,

As I have,

Watching as I do,

Interned and waiting,

For my turn to reveal more,

Muse,

So that you might understand,

Muse,

What makes me tick,

What drives me onward,

What removes the veil,

And the answer Muse, is you,

Thus as a proverbial bride,

In this revelation,

You will carry me across the threshold,

So that I can intimately express to you,

That my scars are the graffiti

Imprinting my story on my body,

My heart, mind and soul,

And in that moment,

You will have me,

Tagged,

As I have already,

Tagged you,

Muse.

SDM

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The Importance of Muse (5)

 

 

 

Every time you arrive,

My neurons blaze at the speed of thought,

Pining to believe that this time,

Here and now,

May be the flash,

Brilliant,

For which my whole life has been lived,

Since that awe-inspiring conception,

When universal matter pooled,

Forming galaxies, stars, planets and we,

We two,

Muse and Writer, Warrior Poet, clashing zealously,

Inspiring and inspired,

As these words flow,

For without you the days are long,

The nights are even longer,

Despondent as I reach out,

Astral projection of my deepest pleas,

Calling out to the Ether,

Begging of my Ladies,

The Sages that alight my path to you,

Fate has brought you once,

Destiny once more,

Serendipity once

And now I marvel,

Are sirens once more upon me?

Or in exponential wisdom,

In multiple dimensions,

Have I finally been led to the place I need to be?

To shine,

To become,

To find,

All I once was,

Billions of years ago,

Cosmic dust,

Collected,

Coalesced,

I and I and I now refuse,

To let go of that dream,

To find the eternal love,

That has vexed me all the days of my days,

Love unyielding and requited that will deliver unto me,

The purpose and implication of my travels,

Voyaging to you,

Here and now,

Muse.

Muse,

As I fall deeper into my intimate wishes,

I watch as your eyes shimmer,

With thoughts secret, residual,

While concentric circles continue to expand,

Our experience,

Our consciousness,

Our extremely hidden and repressed aspirations,

For as woman and man,

We have built our walls,

From past rejections and exceptions,

Judiciously crafted to protect us, not from ourselves,

But from those who seek to deflower our chaste intent,

Having been corrupted,

You and I,

Muse,

We seek redemption and redress,

We seek temptation, gingerly,

Less like Eve,

More like a painter with a blank canvas,

Or a writer a blank page,

Ours to create,

This dream,

Every aspect, thought and every belief,

Lived vividly in each moment,

N O W,

We must release the past,

Both, we,

Unleash ourselves from that which we can not change,

Set us free from our wounds, plentiful,

So that N O W,

Can become an untold then,

Muse,

Can you,

Will you believe?

 

 

Muse,
Once more from on high,

From another time, far far away,

The Ether intoxicates and entices me,

Drunk on an abstract,

Drawn in vivid hues of reality,

Together where do these words lead,

Where shall we go,

Hand in hand,

Rapt attention in each others gaze,

To an awaiting horizon,

Of which we are yet to conceive,

Could not consider,

That is, until, here,

And N O W,

Those blessed moments,

Time standing still,

When together,

Entwined,

Our bodies crave that which we can not grasp,

We can not see,

Nor hear, taste or smell,

Our uncontrolled reactions,

Complex mathematical and scientific veracities,

From chemicals,

Allowing us to feel that which we can not know,

Feel Muse,

With me,

These veracities,

Finally proofing the evasive equation that has haunted me,

Taunted me,

Twisted and torn me,

Yet,

Every time I am enhanced by your arrival,

Presents presented presently,

Temporarily though it may be,

For the N O W,

Here you are,

As the words contend,

Muse,

Will you understand,

Can you,

Muse?

 

Muse,

Time and again,

On this universal plane,

I have braced for impacts,

Long foretold,

Crashing into an awaiting hell,

Where my depression takes over,

A completely different set of chemicals clashing,

Where abandonment sends me into the nearest distraction,

Longing to rid myself of that desperate bitches howl,

Black Dog screaming,

Where even Hemingway will not drink it away with me,

Can not,

Although we try,

Don’t we Ernest?

Muse,
For here you are once more,

As I ponder the past

And posit the future,

Though living in every moment,

N O W,

Adored ambitions,

When in your grip, mental and physical,

There is nothing but you,

The world around me evaporates,

Nothing exists,

Save us,

Where while apart I allow myself the persuasion,

That maybe, just maybe,

This time,

The Ether,

In its infinite expansion and wisdom,

To the left,

May have got it right,

This right,

Now,

Muse!
Muse,

My soul tickled,

My wandering mind,

Deliberates on possibilities of possibilities,

As the special theory of relativity seems obvious,

Considering that time apart seems like eons,

Where together it feels as if mere nanoseconds,

Yet still I abide,

Grateful,

For each instant I am by your side,

Feeling the intense elation,

Of the dance that two souls meeting and greeting have done,

Since time itself began,

Is there anything more wondrous or misunderstood,

Despite futile attempts,

Others and mine,

Especially mine,

For at your side,

There is nothing but you,

Just you,

Muse.

Muse,

Sloughing off the lackluster repetitions of history,

I am here,

As I and I,

Chosen light,

Servant,

Court Jester,

Teacher and more,

To act for you,

As the peaceful unseen force that lifts your lips,

Into that perfect purse,

Aligning both the stars and your soul,

Further still with my own,

Come together two as one,

Where the Ether begs these words,

As recompense for your sparkle,

The twinkle of the window to your soul,

Telling me more than all the words I’ll ever know,

Perhaps even write,

Though for the now,

I am elated,

That again after being jaded,

I have been satisfied,

Satiated by the Ether,

And my ladies,

To honour you,

Who honours I and I and I,

With your presence,

Muse,

Your importance,

Can never and will never be understated or underrated,

Instead celebrated,

In this harmony of words,

Hastily assembled,

As my mind dances,

Faster than my fingers can comply,

Joyously,

With possibilities of possibilities,

N O W,

Muse.

 

SDM

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Her Veil Parts Slightly…

 

I am a servant,

Your servant,

Here to guide you to the happiness you do not yet know,

And are yet to believe possible,

Anxious to ensure that in your service,

I can somehow enlighten you,

Should you choose it?

Should you see inside your own darkness?

Your own hurt,

Past rejection and self deprecation,

To see what is so clear to the rest of us,

Moreover, that endears me so,

Savoring every moment shared,

Especially with my Celtic kit,

In the dead quiet of each South East Asian night,

Shared harmony

Shall you like the tales of old?

My proverbial Rapunzel let down your hair,

Though not of gold,

Letting me be your freedom,

For indisputably this must be, like you,

The beginning of the most beautiful fairy tale.

 

I am a servant,

Your servant,

It is my humble joy to create with you,

Should you allow me,

A smile as Father Time intended,

It is my pleasure to confidently open your eyes,

Your heart and your mind,

Tickling your soul, as I perceive it longs to be,

Pleasing it as I long to be love for love,

In service of you,

Muse.

 

I am a servant,

Your servant,

My bliss created by your elation,

I am a servant,

Yours,

Should you have me?

Seeing what others already have,

What I know you have,

Can you overcome your fears?

Your doubts and reservations?

Will you try?

 

I am a servant,

Your servant,

Come to reveal the power of love,

True love,

The power of you,

The true you,

To make a change,

Today,

With only a thought,

Realizing what sincerely is inside of you,

Rather than this darkness you portend,

Will you choose happiness,

Or maintain the status quo?

 

As your servant,

It is my great delight,

To see that twinkle in your perky brown eyes,

Shining,

Gratefully in my direction,

And through my service,

I heal my wounds,

Release my demons,

The shackles of my past,

Keeping my Black Dog at bay,

While Hemingway relishes that, again my fingers bleed,

I am your servant,

Humble,

Awaiting your command,

Muse,

As the Ether, and my ladies,

Serendipity, Destiny and Fate intend.

Please,

Be not fickle,

I am not too proud to beg,

For what I feel is pure,

In this moment and those to come,

For you!

Shall your veil part slightly?

 

SDM

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