I mourn the death of words,
last gasps of a once hearty muse.
Of late it refuses to feel inspired
having been mired in grief and despair.
It is there that she lays,
splayed in her former glory,
a story retold more times than it should.
But, I cannot dismiss it as good.
I do not find comfort there where
she once played, things said linger
and reverberate and as of late
leaves me with these stingers where my heart bleeds.
It needs release, but please, let these sessions
end with my true expression, and not the depression
that has laced her loss. The cost keeps mounting
as I am left counting the corpses and divorcing
myself from all former numbers. My mind staggers.
It lumbers, a drunkard inebriate and confused
feeling used and abused and choosing to dispatch
each night until well past mourning slumbers. My words
have hung themselves out to dry, and try
as I might they just don’t feel right.
Words, last gasps of a once hearty muse
remain mired in grief and despair.
She’s no longer there!
© Walter J. Wojtanik
Poetic Asides 2017 April PAD – Day 18: Life / Death Poem