The Silent Muse


At times I’d like to rub the sky away,
rearrange the stars and blow the night
to day; but life is not like that,
never was. The mind is a paltry thing,
a simpleton among lost nights
and days; it lies against the Self,
hallucinates this emptiness; makes
believe the world is whole and real.

Strangeness holds us in its spell,
contradiction cracks us till we smile;
the wooden puppet dancing
on the shelf, turns a blank eye
across this transparency; a labored
throng shifts quickly down
the pebbled beach like clowns
into the green-leafed sea, vanishing
into this glass world’s bankruptcy.

I reach out and touch her face,
realize I’ll never know the truth
from space; yield up these traces
under uncertain waves, till spume
laves me from the foaming shoals –
throws me down upon this cracked world,
where sea and sky shed their swag
and lift me into the cold and blue.


– Steven Craig Hickman ©2015 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

One thought on “The Silent Muse

  1. So beautiful yet again. We are reincarnated so yes, time is no time at all, and the world as we know it profound, sacred and profane, but an illusion at best. Our intentions are not illusions though, no; they carry energy imprints with them and extend beyond the physical boundaries of consciousness. They affect things. In that way, we have time…


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