untitled
Inspiration seems extinct these days.
For me its running thin.
It takes on the form of four white pills
and a last night that I cant remember.
It use to be someone I know,
a song, a poem, a prayer
A boy with life behind his eyes
and enough soul to spare.
I like to think that I am enough,
a Muse unto myself
But everytime the moments nigh
my sense of intent seems dead.
Try as you might, will as you may
the planets still feel un-aligned,
the myth of purpose is now antique
there is no gleaning of time.
I sleep and I rise,
In atempt to extract my art.
In a world that does not know me,
among those who do not know me,
an illegitimate child of God.
5-24-05 julie green
For me its running thin.
It takes on the form of four white pills
and a last night that I cant remember.
It use to be someone I know,
a song, a poem, a prayer
A boy with life behind his eyes
and enough soul to spare.
I like to think that I am enough,
a Muse unto myself
But everytime the moments nigh
my sense of intent seems dead.
Try as you might, will as you may
the planets still feel un-aligned,
the myth of purpose is now antique
there is no gleaning of time.
I sleep and I rise,
In atempt to extract my art.
In a world that does not know me,
among those who do not know me,
an illegitimate child of God.
5-24-05 julie green