The Distant Muse

It's not long before
we hit that dull rigid wall of reality
Like a giant hammer
slamming our youthful hopes
and sprouting dreams,
everyone has their lines
 even the lost and pathetic
 boast of their reason and misdirection.

 how long does the air keep coming to us?
 Dealing out sparkle and shine?
 Like the severed cord of spinal instinct
 why, and when, does the Muse wander
 off to the jagged cliffs or the wind-whipped prairie?

At some point she leaps
from the rusting train
to another bright-eyed traveler
To be filled with her invigorating urgency
and it's then that the color fades,
then that the tropical fish turns gray
 on the water-torn deck.

 we face our own limits during her absence
aching and fierce for an ounce of creativity
and yet nothing comes, nothing emerges forth
 even sadder still
 when the chill of winter
nibbles at our feeble physical selves
shaken blank and void

And so I plead to you
dear brothers and sisters,
pray to her! call her!
 ask for forgiveness and hope to god
she returns someday with her vibrant enthusiasm
electric wild-eyed passion,

 with every bit of lingering leftover energy
 yell at the top of your lungs!
 to the bottom of your soul!
 and lure her, lovingly
back into your heart
back from the hollows
so that her thrilling voice
restores us again to the
taste of belonging