Lost Muse

I ponder these fairy tales and fireside stories,
Of love won and lost and adventures in anguish,
That are told throughout time.
It seems strange,
That I don’t know where my Juliet has gone,
Or, where my maiden lies.
Somewhat a mystery I think,
That I am a writer,
Who has lost his muse.

I have a compassion for spirit,
That dwells inside.
I will draw for you what I can,
And for what I thought I knew,
Cause in the end, I’m searching to find,
The fairy tale land,
Just to find you.
The story is told,
And the dragon has been slain,
And you are nowhere near here,
So I could rescue you.

So spin me a yarn of gold,
And I’ll save it now, and forever more.
But, all that’s left here now,
Is the story about being lost for you.

These stories we tell,
Are a fools tale of nevermore.
In imagination they lie,
For us to write and just decide.
A muse in the mind I say,
Is twice a find, for legends are told,
And battles are fought, over a mysterious muse,
“Quoth the Raven”
That poor Eleanor was never quite there.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s