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

Copyright © Michael Birchmore | Year Posted 2015

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