I remember
How the moment was uncomfortable,
driven by conversation revolving around
Self-loathing
Rabble-rousers
He approached me like a tall blue glass
Of water, illuminated by the whisper of his fire
Steady and bright
I was desperate to part from the nonsense
Surrounding me
To elevate above it
And find a spacious green
To breathe in promise
He delivered this moment to me,
Selflessly offering me that which I needed most
The golden ticket,
The invitation to pass through into that
Garden gate
Lush poetic decadence awaiting on the other end
bubbling up from a small brook
I never knew ran by my world
I dip my toes and then decide
It is available for me to
Submerge more.
Gone is the yammering din that assaulted me
These long harrowing days.
My muse brought me an empty platter
Laying bare and waiting….
Begging to be filled with
My Rapturous soul
Comments
Jo
May I suggest a stronger title this poem is most deserving of one
well done
nothing I would correct
Muse
Thank you! I will kick it around - I'm sure something will pop up for me :)
First time...
I have ever thought of a muse as delivering an empty platter to be filled; but it is a great way to describe what happens. I must have a half a dozen or so different muses. Or maybe he, she, it, is a multiple personality? I can relate to what Ms. Brooks says, that it should have a stronger title, but can't think of any more apt. I say leave it as is, but maybe capitalized? Gives it a bit more strength. Nothing to crit. A nice answer to the challenge. ~ Geezer.
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Thanks! (Muse)
Thanks Geezer - Yes I'll kick it around a bit. I'm sure something will come to me...!!