Oh Muse!

Creep close and lift the vines here at the corner window where I sit, lost as I am in the throes of this impermeable night. I’ve crossed my arms and leaned into this inky black so as to peer through its bottomless abyss. Penetrating the ebony of your eyes, it is my desire to pull you into a kinder regard for me so as to effect an avalanche of narrative, where until recently, words lay crumbled, fatigued against my brow.

Oh muse, take hold of me won’t you!

Place my greedy heart and soul amongst those extendable reaches of imagination’s periphery where the writing be nothing but fluid and the insights profound. And in arriving at that path where no stone is left unturned, may there exist a bottomless expanse to my perception as I beg entry into those profound observant states.

Oh, that I might one day soon have the opportunity to tip my wine glass toward you as a toast to the rediscovery of some spiritual treasure, long hidden in this soul. Surely you are aware that I would write hard and steady in an effort to understand the unwombing of things as witnessed at that core.

In this temperate air tonight, I am ready for any miracle that might, without warning, drop anchor. Through these long hours of torturing thirst, I exist deep within this well-kept dream, where my voice lies intensely quiet, yet open to every risk. 

Oh muse, please give life to those words of the glowing amber kind, those particular ones that are graceful in pattern and jubilant in rhyme, so I can use them in an effort to allow others the opportunity to hear my story. If allowed, each word will evolve and the story will become no longer circumspect in its telling. Hidden truths will linger at its conclusion like those found in prayer.