They wear like golden trophies
About their long slender necks
You came to me
In a celestial dream
Claiming to be Morpheus
Muse, Hermes Trismegistus
You’re the whisper in my ear
The strength behind my pen
You are Legion
My friend.
For We are Many…
Without ego or destination
I write
But not for me
Or poetic lackey’s
Narcissus capture long ago
Feeding them scraps of ego
They wear like golden trophies
About their long slender necks
I write for the sake of
Filling in the holes of Aether
I am blind when it comes
To these works and promptings
What are they
Where are they from
Who resurrects the voices
Filled with pain
Categorized under Forgotten
Among the Akashic records
Divine mysteries of promise
Ancient tales of failed heros
Never reaching the mantle
Now covered with dust
And I
Am but your vessel
To carry on these wayward voices
Your loyal servant
Here
To receive
(matthew bowers) ~93
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The House of Raven 🐦⬛ 