Absence
by Jayme L Helmickshe hasn't spoken to me in so long
of if she has, I haven't needed to listen:
that muse who sat at my elbow, smoking my cigarettes
downing my vodka by the tumblerful
drunk on the whinings of egotism and youth
she cackles in her corner, waiting for the day
when I will tug her back out into the spotlight
a suitable vehicle for grandiose melancholy
and self-induced heartache
herself bearing the shroud of guilt to
drape across my weary back
but the longer she sits, the more stale she becomes
and her cackling is a death rattle
as she cedes her place of honor to
Someone lighter
Someone more hopeful, more free
a Someone who does not cast a cloak of recrimination
and offers me wings to borrow
until mine finish growing in
maybe it's just that I don't know who I am anymore
without the darkness that so often coiled around my heart
squeezing the life from the inside out
or maybe it's just that I'm happier now than I've ever been
at peace with who I've become
content with what I've been given
without the chains of a muse who feasted on darkness
05/26/2007