The Artist’s Existence
Still, in silence, I wait with patient soul
for whispers of my muse to find my ear,
the siren call of nature’s balladeer.
Sweet inspiration, perfect, pure and whole;
gifts, god’s creative beauty, I extol.
Have I been forsaken? That’s what I fear.
My words and music have left me that’s clear.
With melody lost, white noise takes its toll
From shadow, fog; music, refrains emerge
winged over the horizon of my heart.
Sing out, Erato. You are here, my love.
Joyful translations, melancholy’s purge,
Guide my hand sure, true to reflect your art.
My spirit soars as I serve my true-love.
If there is anyone out there even remotely interested in what I am saying drop me a line. David
No comments:
Post a Comment