Muses (The War)


It’s come to war, a trade in black, a broken tree, a bitter root, a comma that’s lacked. Words in feeling, a psalm took back, oh Le Fey why do you still attack. One eye closed, your pants unzipped, war is simple, when its words, a poem unkempt. Oh what of energy, electric slide, the joint of synergy from time gone by, and what of sex those bodies wet, still oh Dante you and Ley Fey did you ever lack.

Now falling tides, generations, Asher, Le Fey, you needed tack, a young woman you brought to warm a king, and watch him sigh, his moans did ring. Solomon looked and looked, and caught your glean. Still he did not understand a warrior king. And you vanished beyond the wall, left your ghost tidings to a new muse to call. Beyond the years, Romans and pyramids, Le Faye not really your name, unmasked when Dante came to play. Well Dante he rides upon strange moons, likes anal pleasure when beds fill a room, and test all the limits, he’ll never know kings, but David, oh David, Dante knows me. His children are words that draw out the gloom, and measure the verb, in action they bloom. He turns and he looks oh Le Faye how he stares, and sometimes at midnight, he pushes my sanity down steep stairs. I fall and I fall, then I fall some more, my mind counting bruises to write about more, and although he’s violent, this Dante of fiends, sweet Asher, le David, Le Fey, I’ll always remember how you brought down the wind.

You see, I know you were the devil in stride, the equal in justice, compassions bride, why Asher, you strode between kings and the tide, delivered Bathsheba, when the Hittite died. You know you said write about “little boots” memes, you said that you saw him fight reeds between scenes. Your history is moving your deeds above men, but Dante would fight you to write of all sin.

So here now we are at three old AM, a writer with muses who make noise to win. Could it be my companions, you ghost who won’t die, that maybe just maybe you could kneel and try. To work all together and let your pride die, and give me some peace to write truth instead of lies. Hmmm? Well then! Sigh!

It’s come to war, a trade in black, a broken tree, a bitter root, a comma that’s lacked. – 07.30.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל