Eve of Inspiration Part 1 of Part 3

I. Is there life beyond the freckled sun That I in dreams could counsel That in my waking slumber I could trouble For an answer That I could ask and that might listen Who could tell of right and wrong Though I know they’d speak of neither If they spoke at all with tongues And the comfort of their knowing could bring soothing To my fears And at night, be only soaring On the promises of years II. Sometimes I jerk with paranoia Heavy from the smoke of all the mirrors in my brain Latent the desire, shallow burning once again And only to release him, To release her name in vain Of all the energy-will conjure All the visitors, they claim. III. Given what I’m privy there are things which cannot change but not for lack of shifting- lack of vision is to blame after stuffing myself stupid, and then piggishly I gained All the nourishment un-needed While the suffering, not saved I hope to learn a lesson, before too long Time to pay And I’ll bite my tongue from all the words, You always heard me say. IV. I want to feel a giving-ness, a willing-ness, to flow I want to feel informative, in offering, to show I want to stop the rhyming, or restrict, Strict-less convert- But it seems I’m losing willingly, I revel in its concert! V. Please do not call me Dickinson, twas her name and no other. Please do not call me Ragle then, was their name that was under… Please do not hesitate to call me lover, or of darling, or by dear- But to call me by your name would be a gifting, would be crowning! VI. I never knew a lover in the truest sense of loving I never knew a mother, nor a father, how it’s sounding I never knew a teacher who could keep me from repeating And I never knew a truer friend than you- my heart is singing! VII. A jealous miser heads no warnings, takes no prisoners, in his war He judges, ill, pathetic, and indifferent to their suffering He licks his golden chalice with the sliminess of scorpions And his sting, a thousand fires unite, in effort to his pounding. VIII. To achieve a higher majesty, one must resort to cheating On the world, once painted true to life, Now sketched in abstract finding, There is no longer up from down, or straight No longer One worth asking Though I’m not sure that there ever was, A more convincing founding. IX. The creaking that bubbles- effervescent lives the soul Of a nearly ancient homing that in echo plays its role All the timeless thoughts and tapered souls, I am aware of And though I see and hear them as they whisper to me near There is nothing to be scared of, it is I who brought you here!