Loss of the Muses
My Raven flew away again,
We’d barely had time to begin.
I miss him.
It might have been he’d shone a light
And I was taken in by it,
But when his bark came to his bite,
I found that light was nothing more
Than a thin sheen upon
A gaping hole.
Still,
If truths are stories to be told,
How I wish I had not,
Found cause,
To be so bold,
To hurt him…
He was dirt,
Rich, raw and vibrant
Just like the earth,
And when his words
Carved out my heart
And set it free,
I thought I heard
His own soul bleed;
Believed
His every movement
Keen to read
The pain I wore
Upon my sleeve.
But when his dancing words
Were done,
Once they’d
Lightened,
Brightened,
Preened my feathers,
Streamlined,
Tightened,
Was it me who cast him off,
Or did he set
Just like the sun,
To cast a shadow
On my earth
Where once his playful light
Had shone?
Drifting,
Was never something I had planned to do -
I need soothing,
Not this never-ending fairground ride
Of loneliness,
Which I am forced to
Battle through.
Yet the truth?
It wasn’t love I’d come to expect,
But spark and depth,
Mutual respect,
A fondness layered
With youthful kindness,
A fresh aired breath
Laced with the strength
Of youthful promise.
That can bring him back,
I know.
Our ships had sailed,
Our end had met,
Long before
Our soured words were spent
Yet,
I wonder if he ever knew
Quite how much his light
Had filled that hole,
And if I had not felt so much
Like I’d been taken for
A fool,
The depths to which our
Mismatched friendship
Might have grown,
And I’d like to say,
No matter
Where he flies,
What distance played
In space, or rhyme,
That hole will always be
A shrine
For him,
So, when the hour comes
The drums
For our conjoined
Passions
Can meet their
Reawakening,
He’s free to fill it up
Again.
And the longer he untethers me
As he steps back
To nurse the wounds
That prised the cracks
That stripped our bond
The broke our pact,
The unanswered question
Still remains unsung:
Did I cast him off
Or did he set just like the sun?
Stealing secrets
That, I confess,
In moment’s weakness
I might have whispered?
To scavenge
Any feathers that
He might have shed?
To pick at all the little pieces
Which my Raven
Might have left?
Or is my rage
To be contained,
Out of respect
For all those treasured moments
Gifted,
All those blessed moments
Gained?
What fool am I to think
He even cares?
The writing’s on the wall:
I was a conquest
Fair and square,
Of which my flighty Raven,
Just got bored.
J Morrey-Grace
27 July 2018