When words falter, fail and fade,
so too, the strings and fingers,
the voice and ear,
the pen and paper, ink and clay.
All for a lost muse
whose fire has gone cold
and left me here alone
with nothing left to say, play, or create.
Some days being god is easier than others.
Falling leaves, fading pages,
forgotten dreams lost to the ages.
Roads once travelled, rivers once sailed,
ravens now those journeys hail.
Once I was young, a world to see;
where now the days that once set me free?
Searching again, seeking my grail
in song of the ravens, forgotten and frail.
Gone is the sun, glory days past,
given to fate, not meant to last.
Flames are dimming, fires are dying,
but for the ravens with me always flying.
Memory lane may often hold fond treasures, but it isn’t always easy to travel.