Masters of the Universe

My mind feels like a dam to my artistic muse. Cursed am I, yet know not why. Would that I could fulfil my quest as Liberty from these chains I seek. If ‘t were right that I should write And be rid of this foul glamour. The power of the pen can decide Man’s fate or fortune. He that scribes can rule the world Dare I such responsibility. A pen’s words can penetrate Deeper than any knife and Shed more blood than any can imagine And still not leave a mark. On this consideration might not this curse A blessing be? Yet while a man, a pen could kill So may another might it save. Do I write with ink or blood or wine? Will these words become Around my neck, a line? Of who might I a fortune make? From life’s chalice do I give or take? Join with me the fruits of the table And enjoy its bounties as we are able. In a stroke of the nib We can bring much amusement, We can make the black white, A cow to sing as ever it might. In a life ruled by ink Do I walk fields of blood. Need we not charms and visions, Masters we be of our decision. ©Michael Birchmore 2013