thinly veiled, like a bride
or a widow
trying to give space
to find peace
yet clamoring
for wants
and desires
locked boxes
the muse is forced
to silence

forever bound

larafairie at Attic-73684605

larafairie at Attic-73684605

locked up, put away
but never for very long
clock never turning twice before
she is clawing at the woodwork
mewing softly or the harpy’s screech
always imploring
pulling, tugging
at the corners of my conscience
pleading for release
tearing at the fabric of my sanity
she loves me with quick sharp slices
to fingertips bleeding lust and love
anger and joy
stinging scrawls across the page
slow, so slow to heal
she rips away the covering
of ancient oiled cloth revealing
finished canvas never painted
only in the attic of my mind
tearing away heavy tapestries
to flood hidden corners with
a harsh and dirty light
she is chaos and passions unexplored
and a sweeter music never heard
sometimes she hides from me and
i search desperately to find her
her sting is deep but with her i feel
never sunshine and roses, oh no
her demands are much higher
and deeper
my muse, without her i am lost
to her i am
forever bound

what dreams




a writing desk ill named
sits littered like a forest in fall
covered in curling and useless pages


words flow on crumpled waterfalls
in a stream around the chair legs
and the water is oh so cold
through the window, hiding maybe
from the troubadour’s bane
a figure reclines atop an ancient picnic table
a smile blushes her cheeks
the observer left to wonder
what dreams fly to her there