This musty, paint splattered room my muse.
I stare into its shadows seeing images
to feed words from my mind to paper.
Imagination runs its fingers along the dark patterns,
feeling the tales they want written,
Broken hearts, death, joy raise goose bumps on my skin.
Melancholy crawls from the corner
crying red tears through my thoughts.
Sadness rises from rhymes and meter.
A red dawn sunrise shines across mountains.
The morning speaks of love sonnets,
a crimson flourish drawing hearts through verse.
Death wails among splatters,
a life taken by a murderer’s hand.
Dark communication pours from black ink.
My muse, an abandoned building
sitting on a dying city street,
unconventional, glorious…I listen when it speaks.
©Susie Clevenger 2011
Written for: http://talesthursday.blogspot.com/
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