O Muse
You first touched me while I dreamt.
Dreamt in feathers of a youth spent.
Like a mist gathering in the northernmost edge,
your words laced fire ’round my points.
Jagged and yearning —
A slip from a rhythmic tongue.
You parted pages ‘gainst my exposed bones,
and I began to feel that infernal burn.
Then came the shadows of your pouring song,
coiling ’round my inkwell, again and again.
Grasping quills splintered, I chased after
your tangle of adages.
Ablaze in Pyrrhic sage, I encircle, surmount, supp
‘pon the wilderness you forged ‘neath covenant ruins.
– o how I gasp behind these eyes blinded by your vision.
Return, I beg thee, O Muse to inspiration’s parch and wither.
Soothe the frayed edges of these words I’ve strewn together.
© 2016 blue angel
~
Author’s note: “Poems, to me, are always a strange creation, and when they earmark a certain truth, they become a finer indulgence.”
For inspiration: “I stepped outside the pressurized bubble to see the world suspended in its own chill of cosmic wonder.
O how I shivered…”
© 2016 blue angel