Intimations of Immortality


I listened for the Muse,
But only heard her hum….
Hoping for the lost chord
All I got was a strum…

Inspiration is not a sensation
Nor is it a thought,
It’s a movement of the Spirit
That can’t be conjured or bought

Creation is not contrivance
Nor is art mere artifice
It requires a higher power
To break the mental ice…

[So the warship of words
Can sail thru once or twice…]

Words are not like paints
That dry and become set
Mad Picasso raided the Louvre
Muttering ‘I’m not done yet’

[Adding to his ‘masterpiece’ to no avail
Only to be carted off to jail…]

There is power in plasticity
Shape shifters gather no dust
But while words can be flexible
Meaning is a must

Here I am
Still… as a mouse
Hoping the still small voice
Will enter my house

And I will feel his breath
The joy and delight
Bringing life, not death…
Unexpected insight

All real script
Is finally God-breathed
Shall we transcend ourselves?
Be reborn or just relieved?

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