Surrendering To the Muse
Putting up the white flag,
laying down my gun
Turning my back on fantasy,
projects left undone
Unlike other enemies,
she’s neither front nor back
But lives where only she can go,
where color turns to black
Her voice becomes a mimic,
ventriloquist of my soul
As words come uninvited,
their letters rhyming whole
Resistance now is futile,
my nights pass sleep deprived
Mercy vacant, her voice my own
—all victory denied
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)
Copyright © Kurt Philip Behm | Year Posted 2020
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