Whose Muse?

She wanders in

when she feels like it,

tarted up, sometimes,

as if every eye in the place awaited her arrival,

flaunts herself

in naked abandon,

flourishing syllabic resonance wherever

wanton desire cherishes her arrival,

poses idly, at times, to capture flash,

smiling, leerily, on red carpet.

Departing with a sneer, she’s

off to sun herself in Grecian myth,

knowing she is

forever wanted

and desired.

A tart to all temptress,

scourging soul desire,

panting wildly when afflicted,

reddened pout

to tease all suitors.

So they say.

So say many.

Some fast while awaiting, and

she’s laughing with margharitas in the sunshine,

leaving clouds fermenting overhead,

idly casting aspersions on your value,

burnishing her limbs with languid poise,

her footstool, your soul,

querulous and querying,

while no great loss to her.

So I say.

A lecher.

No more than any other

of her kind.

Nothing to offer

but illusion.

Still she squirms inside your worth,

dedicates sacrifice to poisoned thoughts.

A tramp, I affirm,

designed and dressed in alter ego,

famishing your soul

until you realise the truth.

Just a bitch,

in the heat of sunny and overcast days,

becalming doubts as her mood takes,

laughing as clouds of despair

part words from mind.

Trust tarnishes her tan,

embittered exchanged coin of nothing.

Shylock,

feasting on flesh that waits

for her arrival

while life demarks

her worth.

No Curse

What can you say now

To that kind of silence?

            Not the blissful quiet

            That descends

            At evening’s end,

            Nor the silence that

            Pierces through

            Soulful songs

            And seeks

            To burst forth.

Not the loud,

Pervasive silence

That descends

After tumultuous noise,

Nor the restful quiet

That only a ticking clock

Keeps rhythm

And rhyme to.

 

All these I embrace,

            Rejoice in even,

                        In silence’s ecstasy

 

What can we say now

To the other silence?

            Where words

            Unspoken

            Scream blame

            Or ill-regard,

            Castigate

            In pointless,

            Internal

            White noise

 

The kind that grieves

And causes grief.

How this silence punishes,

Betrays its name

And purpose

What say we to silence then?

 

Hush, love,

And hold,

Redeem the silence,

Befriend its nature.

It knows no curse

In peace.

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/17/the-sound-of-silence/