Muse

Muse, muse, muse; where is my muse?   Hidden from me in dark foggy shadows?

 

Beautiful muse, darling muse, generous muse, mine own muse, for the want of thee my being hungers.

 

Stealth is your kin bringing forth unshadowed only at your whim, leaving me wanting at my time of desire.

 

You flit in and out of my dreams, maddeningly tormenting me until rest is not found.

 

Mine body is wracked, tired, worn and weary; seeking the solace of my bed I wish for nothing but slumber.

 

But you, my gentle, frolicking muse, find that time and no other to bring passions flame to mine minds eye.

 

Wanting for release from the cacophony of colour and sound you bring forward, I rise from my slumbered aching still with lack of sleep.

 

Vision and words flow forth from your fount, guiding my penned hand across the page.

 

Tis' love this time that you doth write, leaving my heart open and raw.

 

The visions, the pain, the wounds are quite real.  My love for you, yours for me scribbled onto the page in misery.

 

Muse, muse, muse; where is my muse?  Hiding once more in the shadows before the land of slumber?

 

Author's Note

Uggh, somthing I am working with- needs to be refined; I just really like bits of it.

Reviews

[A. Amos]

This is one interesting write and I truly enjoyed, Thank you for sharing

[Matthew Kult]

Curious to know which parts you like. Feels like a you are talking about writers block, or reaching for something that you want to say but just don't know how to put it into words. Still an excellent write.

regards,

Matthew