Lost Muse by Wintry River Sunset

No eloquent soliloquy

escapes the blur of wine this day

no woodwind corps of troubadours

peace my soul with flawless scores.

No spring wind chimes in fragrant climes

caress my ears in four-four time

the sounds of grace have been erased

oh, how I long for their replace.

No feathered touch of feathering brush

breathes a life to an evening thrush

the canvas fades, the inkwell dries

immortality thrashes and dies.

Velvety moonlit ponds and brooks

Quench the modern melancholy

Of electric brains near insane

From consumeristic folly.

No summer’s airs ease my cares

the words seem weak, a pauper’s share

the poet’s breeze begins to seize

now still, once rustling autumn leaves.

MaxS 1998