The Muse

Your eyes are raised to heaven
When I’m sitting on the floor
At your feet. What am I for?

Do I create or just translate
Between you and your mind
The art you’ll never find

And when your pen runs out of ink
You’ll close the book and with me
Leave behind your memory

Are you brilliant? Are you blind?
Would you have nothing more to say
If I ever flew away

In the end is it you is it me
Do I have anything? What am I for?
But when I walk out that door

Your prayers are plenty when you have
An empty page before you
And still I may adore you

For you take dictation better
Than most poets true compose
Your lines far surpass those

You pray for what you know will come
Your confidence is flattering
But still it’s quite another thing

Compelled to inspire when to dream
Is all you really understand
The letters from your hand

Will never quite belong to you
And even then I only pray
That when I leave you’ll softly say

Goodbye