A Poet Without a Muse -or- Thoughts of Emily D.

~In Honor of Emily Dickinson

My papers sit empty along with my mind.

My chest is vacant, my heart I can’t find.

I last saw it shattered in pieces across that cold floor,

As you trampled them over on your way out the door.

My verses once filled pages for you—

I wrote from my heart, for you were my muse.

Each poem showcased you in lyrical form

Until you ended it all with that silent storm.

I sit here now with nothing to write,

Holding back my feelings, holding back the fight.

I don’t know what to say or what to do—

I guess I just really loved writing for you.

My life is now empty for you were my everything—

I could picture you in almost anything.

You were the songs that I heard and the sights that I saw,

The thoughts I thought up and the art I would draw.

The day you left my life, my art disappeared,

Just as my eyes became masked by the tears.

My thoughts became distant, just as your soul—

My mind flew away without my control.

I saw you pass by (in my mind) the other day,

And I thought of so much to write and say.

However, I realized that my thoughts had no use,

For I was no longer your poet and you were no longer my muse.

© 2009, Austin A. Searfoss