Of Muses and Dry Spells

There are times in a life of an artist when he goes through dry spells in his creating. These dry spells could be due to the undesired muses that come and go. It was an honour to get to write this with my new friend, Aaron L. from Wisconsin, USA.

My dry spell is a desert at this point,
My muse has betrayed my tongue,
As disappointing as a bad joint,
As broken as a tune unsung.

To your muse you must bid adieu,
She has gone astray, mottled, used and bitter,
Astray, but for time as stale breath breathing anew,
Parched to quenched from my muses pitcher.

Quenched & swelling,
New growth pillaring,
Pillaring out of tangled strife,
Residue of parched remnants of past life.

Gripping tales of the days of old,
Parchments of stories untold,
May new history unfold,
As precious as a treasure trove full of gold.

Pennies as sweet and plain,
When snatched from the pool of the muses,
Muses who care not of my pain,
The grimy fountain of youth and disguises.

Such pennies are worth close to nothing,
Muses who do not care deserve not your attention,
Wait a little for a muse who will give you everything,
It takes much selflessness to give such affection.

Eternal are the words of tragedy, pain and suffering,
Uplifting are to songs of the endearing,
Soak up the galaxies of emotions,
Sink deep into the arms of unconditional devotion.

Drink, drink the elixir of imaginations,
Till you reach the stars of distant constellations,
Quenching the desires of an artistic soul,
Endless efforts to be formed by a creative mould.

Pressures of life, alas,
Broken mould spilling molten ideas of the grit,
Let it lie spilt where it has,
Perhaps there we can make more sense if it.

Molten ideas that carry heat of potential amber,
It will probably make more sense when we are sober,
A sweeter dream I've not yet known,
But a blurry glimpse to her has been shown.

Till then we lie beneath the stars,
Curious and numbingly blissful by far,
Drift away to the land of dreams and fantasy,
Eventually you may meet the muse of your destiny.

A new tune shall spring forth in due time,
Maybe a new breath shall arise,
Unwavering with the words of a new rhyme,
An end to this dreadful demise.

- Aaron 'Gergasi' L. and SY
06:06H 13th April 2016
Petaling Jaya


SY is a 'Jacqueline of all trades' who loves wearing plaids.
She doesn't believe in things that fade and fulfills the promises that she made.
She seeks the hearts of the troubled, to be a listener in times when things are doubled.
She's the kind who stands in the gap, who will only call it quits when it's a wrap.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Strings

Post You

Knowing Love