For only a moment
there was a linger,
a little stir
for he was here,
held a finger
to the ink,
a mystic wink;
it seams such a blur.
For just a moment
flowers bloomed again,
a garden grown
from muses hands.
Until then
I tend my own,
my soul alone
to face the stone chill.
And for a moment
he placed his name;
without a word
I missed his call.
"Light the flame."
the muses sing,
away they wing
though still unheard.
There was a moment
when earth was pure
the day alive
and night sang peace,
the long lost cure
yet to arrive,
and love release,
so hate can cease,
stays silent still.
Author notes
this is just a little thirty minute poem with a little message embellished inside
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