Friday, September 17, 2004

To the muse

speak to me muse
preach to me the gospel of beauty

i've got all these stories pent
up inside me that i don't have the words to tell
songs that have no words
just the tones of the groanings of my soul
i have no voice except the small cry
of a messenger from the outside in the desert of the real

stop evading me
before i have to chase you down
with the net of myself and capture
you, the angel of a butterful that
flutters in the wind of my imagination
between nature and supernature

speak, muse, the story of our existence
the beauty of the tragedy of the human heart
the divine comedy of our history
for i have no words except what you give me

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