The Death of the Muses

An empty mind, an empty God—

The Muses are deceased.

An empty art we now applaud—

There’s nothing to release

Our souls, our spirits, raise us up

With reason, passion deep

As ocean rivers—fill our cup,

The overflow we’ll reap.

 

The Muses have been flayed alive,

But you’re deaf to their screams,

Dismembered them—but we’ll revive

Into grander dreams

Than you could dare imagine. Rot

And ruin is your source—

But some of us have not forgot

The ancient future course.

 

The Muses live within the deep—

The darkest oceans crush

The artists who believe. You sleep,

Demand the world should hush.

You’re lacking even surfaces—

Your empty minds and souls—

Believing neither ought nor is,

You’re unenlightened coals.