Fortunately
you are not my muse
I've worn out muses
by the dozens
cast them aside
like chaff
and cherished the sorrow
that ensued
Sadness was my calling card
my tragic handshake
a testament to a life
gone wrong
Age improved me
I survived the madness
came back to life
gasping for air
And so to your door
to spin the wheel
of language
to glory in its intricacy
Two poets alive
in the same century
two restless souls
under one uneasy roof
We will survive our families yet
raise a toast
when the day comes
to the dear
and thankfully departed
We'll leave poetry
like confetti in our wake
and touch the holy stone
once or twice yet
in our lives
I pray it will be so.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 5:56 PM UTC
Fortunately
you are not my muse
I've worn out muses
by the dozens
cast them aside
like chaff
and cherished the sorrow
that ensued
Sadness was my calling card
my tragic handshake
a testament to a life
gone wrong
Age improved me
I survived the madness
came back to life
gasping for air
And so to your door
to spin the wheel
of language
to glory in its intricacy
Two poets alive
in the same century
two restless souls
under one uneasy roof
We will survive our families yet
raise a toast
when the day comes
to the dear
and thankfully departed
We'll leave poetry
like confetti in our wake
and touch the holy stone
once or twice yet
in our lives
I pray it will be so.
A note to my wife, in case it's not obvious.
