By: S. DiSparti
O Muse, my Muse, are you real or a dream?
Come, O come speak to me and harken!
I can hear your sweet voice rustle through the leaves,
perching inside my ear like a lark on
A tree. I speak with a thousand tongues,
In a thousand languages, but what
Am I to say? What is trapped inside these lungs?
I ask you, O Muse, how many cuts
Must I make to gain wisdom from these wounds?
How deep must I go to find the pieces
Of my soul buried deep within the ground;
Beneath flesh and bone, a sea of voices sound,
Rising to the call of my roiling mind,
Begging me to save them from the ever rising tide.