The Muse


Bestowed with an adventurer’s hunger

she yearned for new experiences

Seeking the next anecdote

to add to her ever-growing

personal narrative

Filled with a restless soul always on the move

she arrived at the new homestead

with eyes wide opened

and spirit ready to receive

the story waiting to be revealed

Before her, a faded clapboard house

shutters slightly askew invited her in

Moving boxes decorating the sprawling lawn

beneath the tall pine with the lone tire swing

that swayed in the still air

Sensing she was being swallowed whole

she stepped through the massive oak door

as the arms of the boy long since deceased

embraced her with gentle relief

He’d been waiting a long time

His words echoed in her ears

as she climbed the twisted staircase

His life flashed before her eyes

as her hand traced his on the aged banister

And each step revealed another truth

Reaching the dusty attic room

ribbons of dust danced in the sunlight

pouring in from dilapidated windows

Flanked by faded lace curtains

and memories of a tattered life

In this space, stuck somewhere in time long ago,

steeped in sorrow and buried secrets

the story bridged the gap

between the past and the present

as her next adventure began

Running her fingers along dusty bookshelves

she listened as he urged her to seek

answers to questions that had been silenced

for far too long there in that lonely room

by a boy who had once filled it with dreams

Pausing to pull an old journal from its final resting place

she settled in on the old iron bed and read

tales of someone who lived an ordinary life

filled with trials and tribulations of a boy

who shared her age somewhere in another time

An average story of a life lived in ordinary circumstances

she shared his journey that mirrored her own

until the pages became dark

soaked with the blood of one too innocent

to see the danger that lurked within a shattered home

Although talk in town always portrayed

his death as nothing but tragic suicide

spurred on by teenaged angst,

she wept reading the cries for help

by a boy who was not so different from her

The story followed an arc of twisted curves

designed by an architect of disaster

who delighted in torment carried out

in this very room, now seemingly vacant

but filled with old ghosts longing for vindication

A promise made that day would not go unfulfilled

as new purpose gave sustenance to her adventurer’s hunger

She explored the story, adding new anecdotes to her personal narrative

as she uncovered the trail of a life no longer forsaken

Writing the story of his demise at the hands of one he trusted

Years passed slowly as she settled into that home,

straightening the shutters and adding fresh paint

to the place she shared with grateful angel

She often sat in the old tire swing

reading the novel they wrote together

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