Cardiophore

Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll lose my dreams and my gods
wake up with dust in my hands and snakes in my eyes
no longer their maker, no longer made by and for them
“My spirits have fled me!” I’ll wail, and my altar will burn.

What is the worst thing for a mystic but to be barren of ideas?

What is the greatest loss to a poet than the mead of inspiration?

What is the farthest curse on a storyteller than a cut tongue?

But they always ebb and flow,
like the tide, returning,
returning.

I am never alone, and when I
think I am, there they are,
shining down on me like
the evening star.

I have carried their light for over a decade
I will not let this torch sputter dry
I will set the heavens on fire
And together, we will burn.

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4 thoughts on “Cardiophore

    • The scariest story I was ever told was by my guitar teacher in high school, who said some day musicians wake up and they can’t play anymore – they forget how melody works, how the strings sound, and they can never find their way back to composition – all they have are the memories of the beauty they used to create, and their wells have run dry. Sometimes I’m afraid faith, the spirits, and writing all work the same way.

      • I fear that too – and that one day I’ll realize none of it was real. But I think I’d rather believe in something that isn’t real than face a reality in which there’s… nothing.

      • I agree! Whether they’re in my head or not, the gods and spirits have saved my life and inspired me to serve others and the environment, plus they give me hope, so I’m not letting them go any time soon…

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