Nothing came to claim my muse, instead I dreamed
of freedoms neatly folded in a treasure chest lying in the debris
of a crater; the best were simple choices, the rest forsaken
promises bombed to shreds beside their makers.
All around the sound of raging thunder rumbled
in a night lit bright by streaks of blinding light
that tore the vision from my eyes beside the chest
which huddled quiet in abject fright an orphaned child.
I held it in my arms and cried for lives forgone, the price
of lovers rudely shorn from life, their children never born;
my muse had sought to soar alone and not be hobbled
in her freedoms flight she rued the thankless night.
At dawn I rose to skies worn grey with sullen clouds
and dismal chill, my will suborned. I tried to rationalise
events and failed to find a common thread that lead me
to resist the test, reveal the contents of the chest.
© I.D. Carswell
