Only to be found between twilight
and dusk as the shadows creep in,
and the hollows and crevices widen,
while the circuits are electrified
distracted by nerve endings,
and thoughts that every poet cries
out for from their own isolation,
and loneliness within.
Oh to be free of the gray matter for
a spell, let me wander through the
lavender meadows of time, searching
for peace, love and endings.
Let the criers of the night chase
another, leaving me in peace.
Bolt the doors, latch the sash,
dim the wick and hide the
Feed my medications
to the rats that chew at my bed
posts, let me dream of better
times from my past.
My archives are buried in
my mind, the crevices so deep
and scarred from probing deep
in those recesses.
Their tentacles reach out trying
to strangle my inspiration, but my
Muse won’t allow it. These are lost
crevices in my mind waiting to be
discovered by the poet.
© Copyright Vincent Moore 2013. All Rights Reserved.