Muse Leads only once

Words that flow incomprehensibly
Fall as tear drops on paper
Seem to arrange themselves right
Ready to be placed in proper sight

Does my muse wake me at day or dreams?
In the closeness of rush hour
My breathe exhales with yours
Waiting for the exit stop to arrive

Crescendo touched and halts at stoop
As lovers part, a magnum opus emerges
Sadness fills the writer’s own,
For now he does not understand
His spirit, language of emotion said
Never to return where his muse had led

Incestual Conversations

With a shape, the sorrow emerged
with a smile, the incest
bears none to a forward march
past in a hidden chest

With a voice (song), the agony conceived
with a whisper, the temptation
dwindle within thyself
abrasive through eternal salvation

Kings of Oedipus and Queens of Electra
Forgotten not will thy infame
With a glorious yesterday and fallen tomorrow
As I judge myself in thy name

Self-respect is the fruit of discipline; the sense of dignity grows with the ability to say no to oneself.

- Abraham J. Heschel