The Muse of Yesterday.

Sing to me of blood sneered eyes
of ancient smells you boast arise,
from dishes dried of sauce and bacon,
that love you promised, and then you've taken.
Then use my flesh, it's all I've left
to feed your children, and give them heft,
To grow and rule an artist's past,
It's nothing new, and it wont last.
A bowl of flakes, with too much spoon,
you took, you take, and sometimes swoon.
And no man's heart would dare be saved,
when it's just his mind that's been enslaved.
But wait a beat and quiet down,
as I grow a spine and anxious crown
my eyes they steam and point accusing
I've done better, you're just amusing.

All Poems © 2001-2007 Blister Herzog, all rights reserved.