My Writing My Muse
That’s what it comes down to at the end of the day
It’s my constant my muse my solace my stay.
People come into my life but they usually disappear.
Writing’s my only constant companion
My cold tall jug of beer!
Spent much of my life fulfilling society’s script.
“Don’t rock the boat, don’t ripple, or even make a blip.
Be rich be smart be successful be liked.
Just stick to the score and you’ll be alright.”
Somehow though
For better, for worse,
I was so bad at achieving
I never hit any first.
Except for one time when I was 12.
But as you can guess by now.
I slid from then on
All the way down!
But I did try to keep up.
To make things better.
I tried and tried harder
To fit in, to be tougher.
I kept up appearances
And I did my rounds
Perform cartwheels and jumps
Like any good circus clown
But I’ve learned these things leave me feeling more hollow
I lie awake at night wondering why do I follow?
If “doing” only left me each night feeling spent
So empty inside, daily less than a man.
Why chasing pursuing this insane madness
Has left me most days with nothing but sadness?
So when I turned 50 I resolved to end this crazy
To come back to what fills me without all the busy
To come back to this.
My muse.
My everything.
Thank you my dear Writing.
For caring and restoring.
Thank you my dear Writing
For knowing and understanding.
May I finally be free
From this world’s endless greed
To live out each remaining day
With my musing my writing as my constant
Say!
