The Muses

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Another poem, based on Bradley Ramsey’s The Halls of Pandemonium. This one very loosely inspired by Day 13 prompt, which is a follow up to other prompts I didn’t participate in. Please enjoy :)

The Muses

It happens at night, the whispers,
Caressing my neck, and wondering.
I cannot hear them, only the distress,
And shaking in sleep does little
To scare them off.

One is loud, another distant,
Their words mix like a candy in which
Offers a vague but sickening flavor,
Driving me to madness…
What are they trying to say?

Poring over the sounds, the noises,
The aching feelings of struggle amid,
It all falters towards the day’s first light,
And as my eyes open, I am left only
With the feeling of sadness.

What am I missing?

It happens at night, their return,
Though something is wrong,
One has gone, the other frantic
And I cannot help but think this is
My own fault.

“Please,” I beg it, “tell me so I can
Fix whatever this is, to resolute,
To return to whatever I was before.”
But like before, its voice is unclear,
Leaving me again to ponder.

Poring over the sounds, the noises
There is something I cannot help but
Consider, just as the voice begins to falter.
Maybe, just maybe, this has to do with…
No, that cannot be, just no.

But as the next night arrives,
No voice arrives to plead its urgency.
Instead of relief, only grief comes
To my aid, absorbing each ounce of
The quiet with melancholy.

I let myself stir from sleep,
Take a pen and put ink to paper,
Writing furiously to collect my thoughts,
Pouring my emotions into its canvas,
Desperately for a way to save the voices.

After I finish, I slump back into
The depths of my dreams, and wait.
There is nothing to expect, only the
Silence which follows my dream.

Or, so it feels, until I hear it, the
Return of two muses, no longer pleading,
No longer in dire straits, unable to
Communicate the real issue all along –
The search for inspiration I’d been lacking
For some time…

Hazel Allen, 2026.