Poetry- "Muse"

“The Dance of Death” by Hans Holbein

by Jennifer Patino

Everything in existence
can cast a shadow,
even the wind
if you’re terrified enough.
The shelter of safety
that is a good, happy
home isn’t even enough
when you focus on the
past constantly. The
darkness. The hard
times. The rough stuff.
Every rustle in the
dead of night is a threat
to me. All the voices
in my head intercept
reality. Bombarded
with clashing opinions
over what is best for
me. There is no reprieve.
Just absence. Don’t
leave. I’m so alive, I
can hardly breathe.
Retracted deeper within
just to be more free
and found just how
lonely that can be.
Still I hum symphonies,
escape to dusty libraries,
but even the books
on the shelves keep their
spines to me. I am not
good company. Still,
the dead writers call to
me. “Have we not made it 
clear, that sometimes the 
muse is cloaked in fear?” 

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