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
all 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 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 absolute anticipation
of what might be.

Eric Vance Walton

www.ericvancewalton.net