The Muse

You can close your eyes
There's nothing here to see
Only echoes in the canyon
From words someone set free
Vapors in the slip stream
Desolving in the sun
Waiting in the darkness
For a muse that never comes

You can turn your back
There's nothing here to face
Just another endless highway
No one dares to race
No memory here to linger
On songs remained unsung
Resting on the paper
For a muse that never comes

You can walk away
There's nothing left to burn
No ashes in the valley
No lessons more to learn
I'll see you here tomorrow
Where feelings all go numb
And thoughts remain unspoken
For a muse that never comes

Reviews

[Gee]

Tis as though you are writing, very well, 'bout writers block which you evidently do not have.

[Brandon Houser]

Thank you Gee! Every one has it from time to time may as well write about it. And who knows. I am sure it's about something else too. Someone else told me that The Muse obviously came too. Lol

[Light and ashes]

Not bad, for a poem about an awaited but not arriving muse.
A little sad, but not bad, at all.

[Brandon Houser]

Thank you!

[Chris Shaw]

I think you wrote these stanzas beautifully in the absence of a muse. Description in the first stanza is ace. I liked the echoes in the canyon, very effective Brandon.

Chris

[Brandon Houser]

Thank you so much Chris. :)

[Curly Grace]

This reads like someone keeping vigil for inspiration that won’t come. The patience in it is its own kind of ache.

[Brandon Houser]

When you sit and think about it, it's pretty amazing where inspiration can find it's way to you. :)