Muse

By Christopher Rupley

 

My days are a wasteland

without the life she breathes

into me,

without the perspicuous

fumes she pours into

my charcoal soul,

into the darkest reservoir

behind the shade of my thoughts,

begging me to relinquish

my pain on this tiresome pad,

and blotting out

my transgressions as she

acts as a rudder,

guiding me through the

swells inside the anguished

sea in my mind…

 

 

 

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