I did not know Muse could be magicked away.
Evil spell or wicked witch, but I learned this truth.
Muse whispered to me all the years since my birth.
Herbs' bitter juices silenced her voice. I loved
that joy, the power of Muse.
Herbs marinated me....
inside antique drawers, how long could
I pretend, before someone discovered the awful truth?
I stood deaf, mute. Wrapped in poison's cocoon.
Numb. Tongue not cut out, just stuck
to the roof of my mouth. It was sinful.
Someone saw me there, on my knees by the river.
Noticed tears, music leaking. Lent a hand. We unwrapped
the cocoon, unraveled it behind me like nightmare's tail.
"Dip your fingers in the water." advised this poetry-lover.
I did. I did. Pain, lightning, thunder, hurricane.
Sweet silky slip of silver sliding up my fingertips.
Woke my heart. Pulsed bitter herbs into waters'
roil. Muse carried it all, with me, back to the sea.
Author Bio:
Rachael Ikins grew up wandering the woods and fields and lakeshores of the Fingerlakes region. While searching for mushrooms and the faeries that dwell beneath them, Rachael discovered the poet within. She is releasing her fifth chapbook of prize winning poetry this month. She lives in a balcony apartment with rafts of house plants or lights blooming from its railing depending on the time of year. She travels more often than she used to, this time to read from her collected works in a castle in Ireland. For one who writes of dragons this seems fitting indeed. She has just returned from Cape Cod.
Rachael is also an accomplished visual artist. Her works are currently displayed throughout CNY galleries. For more about her, find her on Facebook and Twitter and at www.rachaelikins.com
Evil spell or wicked witch, but I learned this truth.
Muse whispered to me all the years since my birth.
Herbs' bitter juices silenced her voice. I loved
that joy, the power of Muse.
Herbs marinated me....
inside antique drawers, how long could
I pretend, before someone discovered the awful truth?
I stood deaf, mute. Wrapped in poison's cocoon.
Numb. Tongue not cut out, just stuck
to the roof of my mouth. It was sinful.
Someone saw me there, on my knees by the river.
Noticed tears, music leaking. Lent a hand. We unwrapped
the cocoon, unraveled it behind me like nightmare's tail.
"Dip your fingers in the water." advised this poetry-lover.
I did. I did. Pain, lightning, thunder, hurricane.
Sweet silky slip of silver sliding up my fingertips.
Woke my heart. Pulsed bitter herbs into waters'
roil. Muse carried it all, with me, back to the sea.
Author Bio:
Rachael Ikins grew up wandering the woods and fields and lakeshores of the Fingerlakes region. While searching for mushrooms and the faeries that dwell beneath them, Rachael discovered the poet within. She is releasing her fifth chapbook of prize winning poetry this month. She lives in a balcony apartment with rafts of house plants or lights blooming from its railing depending on the time of year. She travels more often than she used to, this time to read from her collected works in a castle in Ireland. For one who writes of dragons this seems fitting indeed. She has just returned from Cape Cod.
Rachael is also an accomplished visual artist. Her works are currently displayed throughout CNY galleries. For more about her, find her on Facebook and Twitter and at www.rachaelikins.com
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