Veiled Muse | Bitter-Sweet


My sweet,

Why do you tremble so

Whenever I approach

And bitter eyes of hollow

In my direction turn?

Why is your tongue so stern

And whence is hid your play?

If only such another

Could weave its malign blood

Into my own again,

Its call I would obey.

Forgive my truant heart

Its skipping beat, and know

That since your favour’s loss

This madness is my gift:

A sightless horror born

Of sugared spleen, and cast

Into a writer’s pen…



Picky Tongues

The Poet’s Lament


Within an inkwell’s heart interred:

The answer to my sorrow.

If only I should dare ask 

To have it for my own.


And yet, I have allowed each day

To bloom into its ‘morrow

Until the page grew overcast,

Unwilling to atone


For misspent truths

For depths unfound;

And in its blank reproach

My doleful muse is bound.


Daily Prompt: I Believe