Saturday, March 28, 2015

Motivating Muse

The rhythm drops and the beat is pounding and I feel the vibrations all over. I see the cadence and melody flowing in the air before me. I see colors and the rise and fall of a vibrant wave. And there my muse is standing before me singing a ballad of hurt and pain. Telling me her story of what transpired and now what remains. I see the rock formations and the disdain in her brow as she belts out her confusion and her questions why. She is my muse, the rhythm and the dancer, the cure for my cancer. The desire in me is to romance her, but this romantic is old and has been out of work for some time. The cobwebs have formed all over and the dust is caked up on the candelabra, rust has formed on the hinges of the words she used to hang on, swing on, and thrive on. Now the sentences don't flow, the words now come and quickly go before the mind is in the know. the thoughts are saying no to me, but i just want to say yes to her as she sings of how they deserted her, as she cries about how he abused her, i simply want to hold her, my muse, my inspiration for creating, my vision for this design, it is all entwined, weaved into a perfect pattern of vines and fruit braided for someone like me to climb. Her song rises into laughter and joy and i see her beautiful smile lighting up the sound waves. the upbeat rides along a melody as free as eagles soaring, runs along the riffs like puppies playing in piles of fluffy pillows, her voice floats and fluctuates in various octaves like floating bubbles bouncing on a summer breeze. She sways and rocks with ease even as the tempo slows and her countenance shows that the tears are about to flow. She pauses and takes a sip of her brown liquor and there's terror on her face as she yells out that it's killing her. She found the strength to stand when it was just her, but those she bore, they suffer no more but her pain is deep. There was life when she watched over them, when she took care of them; they were 8 and ten when they were taken. Not her fault, but she sang about embracing them and never letting go. She stood before me steadily sinking in sand while she sang this sad song so I sipped along with her and allowed the alcohol to take me with her on this journey down this winding wonder. The saxophone took the lead as her breast heaved and i could not breathe pausing also as she ventured back down memory lane. She didn't look like much remained, she looked as though she were spent leaning on the wooden stool beside her, head down, body practically limp. There was a loud thud as the microphone fell from her hands. The audience gasped, stunned and in shock. But the band played on and my stomach began to churn. The room began to spin, maybe the liquor was kicking in, but i knew for sure what was about to happen. I began to hyperventilate, the walls seemed to be closing in and it happened, before i could stop it was too late. The verbs and nouns came first, then the sentences and the rhymes followed by the metaphors and similes, finally out of my throat was the desire to create and the outcome was this poem that my muse inspired me to regurgitate.

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