Foresty Solitude

As a hopeful novelist, and a hopeless romantic, I have learnt that no matter how much you will it, inspiration is not something that can be forced.  Some people, as I, prefer to use “the Muse” analogy – in which case, the Sleeping Beauty will awaken when it suits her.  You can do what you like, but if that gal is sleeping…She.  Is.  SLEEPING.  When she awakens though, you best be armed with something to write with and write on.  This was something I was taught in my novel-writing course.  And last night, when my Muse awoke (at the least unexpected time) and kicked into overdrive,  I was extremely grateful for a notebook received from my Aunt for Christmas last year.

Generally my poetry Muse prefers morbidity.  Depressive stuff, you know?  I wrote a great deal of dark poetry when I on anti-depressants, having to deal with all sorts of issues – dank with mildew and hateful fear.  Often, when I’d read my work aloud after publishing it online, I’d think Who the hell are you?  Then I’d justify it and liken myself to Thad Beaumont, the main character in Stephen King’s novel The Dark Half.  Personally, I think everyone has a Dark Half – some just manage to repress theirs for longer.  Some people allow their Dark Half to emerge – be in through anger during an argument, in the privacy of their secret diary or something else.  It was refreshing to be inspired to write poetry that wasn’t black, sad and essentially, soulless.  Looks like she may have had a change of heart… What was even more uplifting, was that it was inspired by a photo I took over a year ago…

20131026_124351

Foresty Solitude

A Winding Road I Walk

In need of guidance, to my God I talk

I speak no words out loud, there is no need

My heart is heavy, my soul, it bleeds

To a Clearing I’m Led

A solitary bench beckons, my soul to be fed

Still no words do I utter, obedient silence I heed

The trees they whisper, my mind they lead

On the bench I sit

Focussed on my troubles, champing at the bit

He tells me to trust Him, to remain in service

“Father I am scared. Lord I am nervous.”

The Hazy, Soft, Filtered Sunlight

Warms my weary heart, burning away the fright

“Do not fear. I am here”, “I am your God.”

“I shall protect you. Do not feel trod.”

 

My heart is instantly happy,

My vision is clearer, my eyes truly see

I am His precious, cherished daughter, a divine, royal Princess

“Father, thank you always.  For forgiveness and love.”

© Mid-Thirty Misfit

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