Sunday, April 14, 2019

Sheikha A. writes

I write without a muse
that once leered at me
head to toe; perverse
in intention to own me,
consume me into rage
for adorning a name
not its own on pieces
of thoughts it’d gift me
in ornate boxes 
of torn inspirations.
I shut it in its box,
a night my freedom
seeking self, lured
my lover, my affair
to take over my pen
and rivet me alive
of words shrieking
brilliance. Instead
I spend my nights
opening each box
in hope for peace
from salvation
I expected to be
my saviour.  
Image result for exiled male muse paintings
The Exile Of Aestheticism -- Darwin Leon

1 comment:

  1. Good title though I'm not shure wot
    it means.. yet, we'll find-out everythn
    in 7th-Heaven, dude, if you're ready
    when sHe calls you2Rapture. If not,
    looky our blogOrammathon:
    ● ●
    Cya soon...


Join the conversation! What is your reaction to the post?