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MutteredtheMuse Nov 2014
Are you moving?
              or just re-locating?
I hope you remember
              to pack all of you...

Or perhaps that's exactly
              what you've hoped to have left behind-
of course starting over
              is nothing truly anew.

Maybe you just need a vacation
              or a change of view
perhaps try re-decorating
              with things that are not really you.

Just don't set up shops
               or make your bed with security blankets-
the stock you take
                fluctuates in interest.

Why do we bother
                 to clean
pick-up, dust and preen?
                 Oh, how these routines are so boring!

Perhaps that's why we travel and plan-
                 do all that you can
Change it up, try something new-
                 feel free to live richly
and take it all in.

But as you lay
                 down your precious head
wherever you choose to keep your bed
                 rest assured you're always home
no matter where-
                 how far or long you may roam.
MutteredtheMuse Aug 2014
Brain is dead
heart is bled
heavy chest
interrupted breaths
grave moments
crashing sobs
temples throb
****** torture
wax-paper wipes
comfortless needs
paintbrush umbrella
wrestling pillows
writhing limbs
screams inside
loud as red
hands tick and tremor
long and never
pitiful depths
of mire
morose prose
lingers instead.
MutteredtheMuse Aug 2014
There are grapes in my path
This abundant trail
now invisible as if we never were
Here, to pick and preen, salvage and reap
for pleasure and pain
I picked you some flowers,
I baked you a pie,
labors of love
with your own hands
connected to earth.

Breaking backs, and clinging sweat
Under wool, denim, straw, and cotton
Keeping more out than simply the sun
Depleted soil
Exhausted soul
Bursting with juice
Bountiful and hand chosen

And you in a hurry just drive by
Dust in the wind
Skin of clay mud
Day after day,
A boulder among the rows
Hunched in fields
Blistered and callused
Searching for more
Ripe for the picking
Migrants moving
Servitude by season
Benevolent harvest
Handpicked strawberries
By chocolate covered hands
destined from birth
closer to earth.
MutteredtheMuse Aug 2014
I'm straining to hear
(I admit, this is my greatest fear)
thundering, rolling silence
boulders loosened
parched from a dry spell
not able to find the words to tell
nor a drop in the hollow well
a writers ramblings that freely clutter
thoughts, ideas, those clever lines I mutter
All taken for granted, perhaps there's just nothing more
needing to be said, it never before felt like a chore
Comfortable as clockwork, like a heartbeats drum
Absent, broken, chaotic ideas now that make me look dumb
A river of words, a waterfall of passion, that carries me
taken by the current now lost at sea
Dry and dammed, a beavers work,
also called 'writers block', a place where evil idleness may lurk
Reassured by friends and family to not worry
it will be back and come in a flurry
But they don't hear the voice
or comprehend inspiration is not a choice
Yet I should confess
I am responsible for this lazy mess
It's not as though I haven't tried
"I wrote a little today," I lied.
Sterile white paper mirroring my thoughts, blank stares
inky shapes, pixels, sans serif, no one cares
Interrupted by any distraction
Even the most tedious jobs holds some attraction
Mopping, scrubbing, fluffing, dusting
Acid in those scribbled notes on torn paper rusting
**** in chair with rolling fingertips like the roll of a drum
Waiting for that muse, my writing voice to come...
MutteredtheMuse Aug 2014
The night falls
heavy in its hours
Afraid of the dark
of your mind
fear what you may find
in the space between you
and vast nothing
openly suffocating
a blanket of night
you fall asleep
fall in love
fell for it
when burglars creep
and crawl with malice
lovers steal
kisses and tears
that fall
like night
In hazy dark cities
lights blur through salty tears
busy streets
empty years
Safe and sound
of silence
is golden
Behind you
lingering in the shadows
of loneliness
at nightfall

— The End —