“Who loves not music and the heavenly muse, That man G_D hates” – John Dowland

Words born in Gloria, my kingdom done, words born in Gloria my kingdom won.

When I was young, Gloria came to me gave herself to me all night long. Rested she spirit while I was learning, sang hallelujah as we were one. Varied the names that I would call her, maybe a him, they all would come. Never a dark valley in my childhood, Gloria made sure my eyes saw none. Some build their holiness as a witness, spending their time toward a grander sum. Waiting for some eternal wisdom, Gloria told me it never comes.

When I grew taller, Gloria was distant, leaving by hours, and days or weeks. No longer did I see her labor, testing my body when I felt her need. Though it was true there were some others muses of old and ancient creeds. One by one in times of haunting, they gave me their words by poems and deeds. Every meaning, they did filter, deviled it’s meaning by faulty belief. So many thoughts did I often falter, never expressed in true relief.

When I was older, voices grew softer, dreams came swifter, their meanings brief. How is it so, I would wonder, did Gloria leave, when I still had need. One such moment, as January grew longer, howling winds, and I couldn’t sleep. Out my window, the moon grew stronger, Gloria appeared, and made my soul complete.

Writing in craft, the spells growing stronger, words like bodies entwined in heat. Gloria, Gloria, adjectives, adverbs, heaven and hell, my sentences complete. Every syllable, comes in a picture, probing my mind, like a pleasure treat. Never before has there been another, the witch of verbiage with tales that speak.

Gloria comes in small bits of timing, teasing my mind when the evening comes. Sometimes she’s ghost in the midst of lightning, mostly she’s air when the pain recedes. I have knelt when the storm was coming, I have risen high when the moon has come, Gloria has been in my dead mind crying, now in the heat of creation we leap. So, it is when I am bleeding, begging relief from the mid-day sun. Torn from my safety of where I’m breathing, book of my shadows a spell undone. Words of a psalm that go by singing, night on a highway, trip not done. Words born in Gloria, my kingdom done, words born in Gloria my kingdom won. – 01.28.2018 – דָּנִיֵּאל

61 thoughts on “Gloria

    • Hi Steve, Funny you bring Laura Brannigan up, I seriously thought of using that song, but ended up with David Meece’s tune. I thought most would not have heard of it before and it would give some different music a chance to be heard. Thanks for your kind compliment. Wishing you a great week ahead.


  1. All artists have muses. Sometimes they are not recognized as such, but you have known yours, personally. Gloria seems close to being a Whitby Lady, but not so flamboyant, nor so versed in gin sin.
    I am thankful for this. There is already a lot of competition in Whitby.
    This is a wonderful piece of prose, Daniel. Never a dull moment on the pages of Dusk & Resurrection.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Heh, you said gin sin, and it could be that you and I and the rest of the Whitby crew are the only ones who know what that might mean, and may be that is for the best. 😉 Gloria has always been that elusive dream muse that plants well thoughts of what could be written. 😉 Thank you my friend, I loved your comment, and don’t worry you will never be just another Whitby Lady for there is no such thing. 😉

      Liked by 1 person

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