Poetry Challenge: Separated

by Rana


The days have turned

to weeks and months; they burn

against my fingertips

as maturing turns to aging. I’ve learned

that it’s not about the quips

of lyricism and tricks and tips,

it’s about not quitting

when your mind starts to trip.

The loser takes no prize.

I can empathize

with how hard it hurts to realize

the spark has died…

Or maybe not so harsh,

no, my muses hide and hush

behind the hustle bustle

of the daily shuffle,

suffocating, they’re buried and muffled,

away from me, they’re separated and muzzled.

If I find their key I can unlock

the bonds that bind my heart;

I can be free again!

Let loose my weary, weakened tongue

to the skies

and fly

among my beasts and god-sons.

And so I will the world,

I command this key of liberation

come! Let the cosmos swirl

within my grasp, let freedom

run like black river blood

from tip of mind

to end of pen,

and let loose this damned flood.

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