And I Have? Nothing.

On this particular piece, I tried to get a little ambitious. I was reading articles online about different works of art and the muses that inspired them. And after reading all of that, I had an idea for a poem. I basically want to weave together different writers and artists and their muses, all while waxing poetic over the fact that I no longer had one. So I set about writing, and after some writing and editing, I have to say, I was pretty pleased with the end result. Not many people got the references in the poem, but it was a challenging piece to write. And I certainly had fun doing so.

"And I Have? Nothing."
2011

It seems that in the past, all great artists and minds, have shared similarities.
Most were innovators in their time.
And souls off which, imitators made their dime.
Some were revered for their creations, by the public.
Some were reviled for their creations, by institutions.
But one glaring similarity I have noticed,
is that many have had a muse.
Dante had his Beatrice.
And Yeats, he had his Maud.
Manet had Victorine.
While Francoise was Picasso's gift from God.
Rodin had his Camile.
Nietzsche and Freud shared a Lou.
While Elena captivated Dali,
And a great many others too.
But what about me?
One so alive in this hell
My friend, I have nothing,
But this great tale to tell.
And you could try to say
That it won't stay this way
But something has to burn
For inspiration to return...
Even in the world of fiction, others have had their muse as well.
Poor Eric Draven lost his Shelly.
So he returned from dead.
Ariadne aided Theseus,
With both a sword and ball of thread.
Then there was the tired soul
Who had lost his dear Lenore
He cried until a raven came
And had squawked its', "nevermore."
But what about me?
One so alive in this hell
My friend, I have nothing,
But this great tale to tell.
And you could try to say
That it won't stay this way
But something has to burn
For inspiration to return...
But once I had willing muse,
Who threw her hat into the ring.
But she revealed herself a widow black
And her bite it left a sting.
But alas, I saw the venom fade
And we became greater friends in time
Now she has another in her web
And her attention is no longer mine.
And that is truly fitting in a way,
Because her happiness was found
But now I sit with "Lady Luck"
Driving my soul into the ground.
While Mother Nature does her best
To make my city's river swell
Will I drown or spend my life alone
Is what I cannot seem to tell
'Cause old Father Time's been unkind
Since it's confidence I lack
And so now my heavy heart of stone
Has begun to show a crack
So what about me?
One so alive in this hell
My friend, I have nothing,
But this great tale to tell.
And you could try to say
That it won't stay this way
But something has to burn
For inspiration to return...
So let me burn the waiting bridge
Before a goddess tries to cross
My inner sea of misery
And then finds her life is at a loss
For the way I see the world
Would erode everything
That made her who she was
Or made her want to sing
And she's far too beautiful
To deserve such a fate
So maybe it's for the best
That this wretch will have to wait
And say, so what about me?
One so alive in this hell
My friend, I have nothing,
But this great tale to tell.
And you could try to say
That it won't stay this way
But something has to burn
For inspiration to return
And this trail of ink should prove,
That I have burned for long
Long enough to want to move
And have some darling prove him wrong
But this inner sea he mentioned once
Has overtaken all the land
So now all this humble writer wants
Is for his public to understand.