THE MUSE
POEM by Mark Kinash

Wandering alone before the break of dawn
Pondering over the words of wise men dead and gone

Ears echo of heavy metal and “Unchained Melody”
Tears flow cursing his solitude and melancholy
He now envies those with vacant smiles and vanity
See how they surrender quickly to conformity

Forever alone is a fate he’s now scared to endure
Never before has he longed for a love so pure

Dreaming in desperation
Searching for a cure
Screaming for salvation
Longing to be sure

But a love unrequited is now his muse
What more does he need to write the blues?

Inscribing on paper an image of perfect beauty
Prescribing a cure for his ache and misery
He’s driven to describe the angel he appeared to see
And envision a union that exists only in sweet fantasy

Near the darkness that surrounds your armoured soul
Don’t fear a love in vain which never grows old

A writer’s muse is a pain that may never end
But a lighter’s fuse that sparks a talent which can transcend

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