The Curtain

As the curtain of darkness is drawn tight

and the incense smoke hangs still,

muse settles in

and I become its channel it’s quick to remind me

in its soft murmurs

that possibilities and hope

are still within the reach of my mind muse, my sweet amnesia,

makes me forget my wounds,

my worries and

the prickly ache of time passed once refocused in the moment

it’s easy to see my scars

make me who I am

but do not define me worries are only time wasted,

my muse is otherworldly

and Heaven sent,

it leaves me lifted, with the warmth of it

wrapped around me

I can brush the

the frigid throes of this world

from my shoulders again I can walk

with head raised,

proud of each facet of my soul,

happy in every cell of my being,

filled with the anticipation

of what might be. ~Eric Vance Walton~

Soul's Breath

Soul's BreathThe sun's twisted spires

warm all but those who

are huddled deep within

the solemn shadow's grasp even then some find solace

by the mere sight

of its golden glow muse for me is like the sun

once it rises it heals,

shining in all the right places, fear and doubt huddle and squint,

nestled in their dark nooks, 

blinded by brightness this great internal sunrise

creates such lasting Peace

and contentment that you 

can no longer feel smothered by life

muse is the soul's breath,

nothing more, nothing less. ~Eric Vance Walton~

Beyond Words

Blessed beyond wordstruth is like a bird with a broken wing, it cannot fly but can surely sing

this song calls to me, the inner voice of muse speaks volumes, stitching together fractured moments of my life and giving each of them worth

these words bubble up gently from a place, cool and deep inside of us all that is immortal and wise, their warmth and their light wash over me to cleanse my soul and remind me that in a world the reeks of harshness we are never fools to be kind

all who seek solace will one day find in each day a reason to keep smiling in spite of the world and all its beguiling ways for it is true, we are blessed beyond words.

~Eric Vance Walton~

Rush Hour Train

Happiness is an empty rush hour train only the scent of the past remains and stains of a crushed Cheeto on a vacant seat, a crumpled can of pop and graffiti covered shops that rush by, unbroken

Happiness is an empty rush hour train a subtle sway to hush the pain as life's maelstrom briefly slows its swirl the fringes of my soul begin an upward curl, a smile

Muse strikes, a welcome distraction from mortality pulls me back from the edge of never to maybe...just wait and see please save me from obscurity

Happiness is an empty rush hour train the pause I prayed for spared me again from being life's prey sweet Muse diffuses the illusion, and I return to the conclusion that I spell out the meaning of my existence, one word at a time.

~Eric Vance Walton~