An Old Muse

A wandering young one falls in love ten score times,
each one fallen in bursts of activity, passion, lust,
but tragedy seeks such loving man or woman whole.
Walking wounded and bleeding out old rhymes,
they stagger drunken from house to house mussed,
not knowing what comes from me in this, my role.

I traipse past my last inspiration, o’er corpse and cordon,
stalking gleeful, a rising behemoth that laps and preens,
to feline fall a’pounce those sanguineous beat.
A tear of tooth and nail, rending bloody and moving on,
amidst crowds moving like currents in streams,
and none stop to watch bliss die alone on this street.

—-

A New Muse

Oh curling wave of opaline grenadine,
you touch far more slender tender
than I should see or myself feel real,
unbound, fallen, pincurl reach, without breach
an alabaster neck turned, fixed betwixt.

Those sea filled eyes for days gaze,
soul seeing windows in grey-blue hue
looking beyond the fabric of a pain rife life,
seeing beauty that none else can be, can see,
while a tragic quiet thin smile sit untouched unbrushed.