Poem: The Momentary Muse

tide

A Momentary Muse

Things come.
Things go.
Tides.
Children.
Love.
Hate.

Things come.
Things go.
Dawn
Dusk.
Storms.
Calm.
Pain.
Peace.

Things come.
Things go.
Children.
Parents.
Faith.
Fear.
Promises.
Lies.

All that lingers is now.
This breath, and perhaps the next.
Your lover’s hand in yours.
The sandpaper tongue of a cat on your skin.
The work in front of you.
Your choice of demons and Gods
as you dance the tango,
lost in the music
before it too,
fades.

About this poem

I started this morning all fired up to write the introductory chapter, the last one I need to finish, on my book of depression. It was going to be so good, using the tango as a metaphor, that mix of love and anger that no other dance has. The perfect image for a chapter I was going to call “Dancing with my Depression.”.

But I got this instead.

Hey, I just write this stuff. Where the muse leads, I follow.

Tom

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