MIAH LE RÊVE

       @julydrama, Twitter. His head hurts from carrying so much pain A crown of thorn, a leech in his flesh  Heavy is the head they say, his hands are weary from carrying this load Heavy is the eyes, dark is the soul  Of the man who's lived through his fears,  Traded his peals of laughter and sowed his tears. Bruised are his fingers,  from fighting his demons  From dusks till morns Battered are his feet from treading on snakes Cankerworms from within chewing away, his belly aches. Tattooed upon his heart, scars from his battles His psyche is a turf, a golf course of brawls His mind, a warzone upon which unending bouts take place His legs are worn out, can't keep up the pace His arms are too heavy to hold his shield in place His spirit is still in the fight but his soul's too weary to hold his faith Miah le rêve 

It's a beautiful feeling to have something spark a fire in you,  Its sight piques your interest and builds up an emotion in you.  It brings a combination of love, confidence and elation.  Every artist has a deep connection to something, someone or a feeling as their source of inspiration.  Sometimes, "Till death do us part" is their mode of separation.  I have always wondered what my muse is. What brings my art to heart,  What creates that fire in me to bring my thoughts to life What moves my hands to pick up my pen and write what I feel as it is. I've been in love, I've experienced lust. Alcohol? Or trees I've never felled? (Pun intended) Could it be music or food? Quite close but I honestly can't tell  One fateful day, I wrote, and my heart felt loose, open and warm. Could this be it? My muse is my heart? I try again but this time my heart was cold and this communicated something to my inner self. I decided to write about an old feeling, an acquainta...