A Confession

I was caught in the halls of memory,

Perusing the tales of history, 

Greedily tasting the heroes of old,

Desperately searching their actions so bold,

For one I might replicate. 

But then that kind Ghost came to me,

And, smiling, It spoke to me,

Saying, in tones ever so gentle:

"Breathe the music; bleed the words."

The pages call, and so I must answer. 

I was caught in the catacombs of thought,

Perusing the volumes of things long taught,

Greedily tasting the endless philosophies,

Desperately searching that courageous masterpiece,

For one I might replicate. 

But then that kind Ghost came to me,

And, smiling, It spoke to me,

Saying, in tones ever so gentle:

"Breathe the music; bleed the words."

The pages call, and so I must answer. 

I was caught on the barricades of action,

Perusing the causes of tension,

Greedily tasting the burning speeches,

Desperately searching the flaming reasons,

For one I might replicate. 

But then that kind Ghost came to me,

And, smiling, It spoke to me,

Saying, in tones ever so gentle:

"Breathe the music; bleed the words."

The pages call, and so I must answer. 

I was caught in the fields of music,

Perusing those notes of beauty,

Greedily tasting the dancing melodies,

Desperately searching the roaming remedies,

For one I might replicate. 

But then that kind Ghost came to me,

And, mute, It stood before me,

And I remembered the words It spoke to me

As it gently took my hand:

"Breathe the music, bleed the words."

The pages call, and so I must answer. 

On we walked; on I followed,

On into a great tomorrow;

For the kindly Ghost had led me back, 

Through barricades, catacombs, and halls of black,

To the land I'd left in the past. 

For long ago I had been caught

Sitting before what I now had lost,

Perusing the gifts I had been given,

Engrossed in the words that long lay hidden

In the veins of my mind. 

And now I sat before the page

And fought the wars of passionate rage,

Through sleepless nights, battling angry frights

To wondrous mornings of beautiful glory. 

And the veins of my mind were slit,

And the words came pouring, slow and quick

To stain the paper before me. 

Now my lungs had filled with music. 

Now my veins had spilled the words. 

The pages had called, and so I had answered. 

And with my labor done at last,

I turned to thank the Ghost who'd led me to my task. 

Finding Its kindly gaze,

My gratefulness came in a daze. 

Jumbled words spilled from my lips,

Exhausted from my great hardships,

For my time had finally come. 

And, smiling, I raised my eyes

To behold the fresh and glorious skies. 

Thought dust I was, my soul was free,

And with my Maker, it would ever be. 

For my Lord has called, and so I must answer.