My Mentor-My Muse


Where are you I wonder?
the one who taught me so much and left your mark on my soul.
Without you I am nothing, with you I am alive, somebody wanting to live a little longer
a poet who wants you to be proud of his student.

Remembering those days we cleaned silver together and dusted the fine crystal tear drops that hung so proudly from your dining room suspended on golden chain linked and tightly woven suspended to light our fine dinners shared under waxed candle light with Mrs W she was so amused by your son the one who never was born from your loins, just a wayward dripping wet boy lost yet found by his mentor.

You taught me to love the classics the music of ghosts from the great past and the prompts to act to play to study and listen intently as the masters whispered in my ear my future unknown yet the present with you as my teacher was immense so rewarding if not captured lost in the bowels of obscurity.

I traveled with you in your journals you scribed of the past adventures you lived with a glass or two of Muscatel to soothe our thirst and float our fantasies of travels untold my mind was like a sponge so ready for learning from a teacher such as you oh how my heart yearned to learn from books so piled and encased in your den of thoughts.

You taught me so much and the colors of our world and the palette you offered me and I stroked my brushes across the canvass that you laid before me, teaching me that white was pure yet color was paramount to creation, thus I painted my life of pain and abuse before you and with counsel and fine tuning you lifted me from my ghetto.

I traveled the earth in geography and maps that you laid before me, tempting me to travel, to enter the castles, museums to taste what our ghosts left, their mark for all to enjoy and learn from oh how I miss your presence in my life. My mentor my muse my friend my life.

Oh to have a Mentor a Muse such as you is a prized possession you left me far to soon yet as my Muse you placed the pen in my hand late in my life and yet I feel such vigor to scribe and let my soul dictate the words that come forth knowing very well that they are roused by you. My mentor my best friend, my father that I never had, I miss you dearly.

© Copyright 2013 by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved


My Mentor-My Muse — 2 Comments

  1. I know to whom you refer, dear Vincent and it brings empathetic tears to my eyes, Where is he? Well, of course – if anything unknown is true – he is smiling proudly at what you’ve done with it! Hugs.

    • Aw my dear Nellieanna you are absolutely spot on. I often feel his presence and close my eyes to receive him into my heart and soul. For a temporary moment, yet enough to replenish me. I hope I’ve made him proud in some ways, in others maybe not so. My journey here when it’s complete will bring us together, where we go together only time will release that to us both. Hugs my sweet lady.

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