Hemlock

Ghosts. ghosts. ghosts.

Friendly when foreign, A foe when familiar.

I spit out all that I love, for fear it may be poison.

Slowly hemlock taints me.

Weakening. taints me.

But you, you sing clear through me.

You antidote to my madness.

You do not play on my anxieties, strung tight like coiled strings to any frame they can cling to.

 

You sing over me, above me, through me.

How can I remain confused,

When finally I have found my Muse?