Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.216.64.93
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem

I sat by a boulder, then an image grew
A goddess with a pen hovered over the stone
She said I'm a muse, with a mission for you
To write a song titled "sunrise like a poem."

I said "nothing rhymes with poem; I can prove it on my phone
"Wait 2 minutes, I'll pull up rhymezone.
She said, "You don't get it, its rare that I come
Zeus saw something in you, the chosen one!"

I didn't like this, I felt washed up and depleted
My songs weren't selling, my fans felt cheated
This wouldn't revive them, no way to show them
No way to compare a sunrise to a poem

I wrote something down, then tore up the first verse.
I could write a song about sunrise, but not the reverse
I recalled the orange sun behind Stonehenge on Salisbury Plain
But the metaphors, the similes, I searched for in vain.

I looked up a website a photographer made
"Sunrise light diffuses, it said "and subtleties emerge."
"Mists drift, colors have a delicate shade
Shadows are softer, wavelengths scatter and diverge."

So I thought: daybreak is serene in its way,  
A hush of becoming at the edge of the day. 
So maybe the theme was a new start at growin'
But my fans wouldn't relate to a song like a poem.
 
I said to the muse, still hovering in air
"This mission you set, it just isn't fair
"The words aren't coming, the inspiration isn't flowin'
My base won't go for a sunrise like a poem.

For my fans, I decided I should do my best
I told the muse that I need an empirical test
"I'll get into my car, all silver and chrome
I'll ride on by the hollows, by the primeval stone
I'll switchback until I reach the seabird's home
I'll park all night by the cliff over spray and foam
And maybe at dawn I'll see a "sunrise like a poem."

The muse winced at my rhyme, but said "billboards await
"I get flack when your songs aren't great
I'll meet you on the cliff, we'll both see the sun rise
I know you can write this, after a couple of tries."

Hours later the horizon blazed gold on the sea,  
Revealing a truth that needed no help from me.  
It shimmered with peace—Síocháin, even shalom—  
Not quite, but almost, a sunrise like a poem.

I rebelled, said "I've lost it, it's gone
"Go ambush the next writer by that stone
I can't fit the tone, the theme is unknown
I give up on the sunrise, I can't do this poem.
The muse shuddered, then began to cry.
I would have liked to help, but the river ran dry.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required