Where is my muse?

09 agosto 2006

Where is my muse?

Oh my goodness, where is it? Where is it? I cannot write anymore. My Muse is gone, and my comfortable space, once like home, has became some kind of public pent-web.

Where are you?

Seedborn muse where are you? Am I condemned to a lifeless life? Will Nature ever bring inspiration to me again? I am lost in the soil (the soil, the soil, the soil), yes deep in the soil. Like it or not that's what you got. I am surrounded with ashes. I've burn all the trees in the fire just to keep me warm one night. Silence is everywhere around me. Animals now are extinct. Nobody will see me cry, but, if I cry and nobody sees, am I really crying?

Dreamborn muse where are you? Am I condemned to a life of restless sleep? Has Freud abandoned me forever? Will I have dreams again? Life is nothing but a mountain of shattered dreams, a sea of lost hope. And without dreams life is not worth living. Colour is gone, now, without nothing to reach I shall only stand still. Nothing to fight for, nothing to work for. Just passing by.

Fireborn muse where are you? Am I condemned to live cold as ice? Will life ever return to my veins? Will I feel alive once more? Live, without passions is not life, is just survival. Man, without feelings is nothing but a living machine, some kind of calculator-animal. Now I am empty inside me, just an empty cocoon. I feel no joy, I feel no pain. I am a rock. And nothing will make me smile.

Lightborn muse where are you? Am I condemned to a blind life? Will beautyness ever meet my eyes again? Will I see prettiness in the world? Now darkness has surround me, nothing I see. I have worn dark glasses too long, now my vision has gone. I will never see nothing beautiful, nothing ugly again. I cannot see faces of the coin. I will not know when life is green, when is white or when is blue or black. I am a farseer locked into the present. An artist without hands or mouth. I am the eye in the sky, but I would never see again because I have get to far away. I can barely see my own feet. It was too much time staring at my belly.

Deathborn muse where are you? Am I condemned to a dreadful existence? Will death ever fear me again? Will I regain conscience of self destruction again? A life without fear to death is a life without nothing to live for. Not to be thankful for every minute of existence means you do not need to live anymore. Living like if you would die tomorrow means you have already dead.

I shall found you all. At least, it will make me feel alive.