Dear God, my Muse has left me!
I don't know who I am, nor why I breathe much more and rarely cry.
I do not know, I merely wait; without my Muse I can't create.
I recall those nights my Muse and I would dream! the paths we'd use:
immersed in the ghostly glory of the Autumn birches hoary,
breathing in ambrosial auras born in distant seas of heather,
she'd be dancing lambently upon a lilting tune, in weather
ever fair and listless. Moonbeams poured on countless twigs and beams,
then spilt the ground with pools and streams upon each flitting, fragile leaf.
She, with lithe and supple grace, was weaving love... or was it grief?
Her eyes, like pools, reflected stars yet held beneath such mysteries.
Now I wander, searching for a long lost feeling, under sleeping trees.
A contest entry
- Paint Words Into My Head by Velvet Rose Petals.
1000 points, ended June 14, 39 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - INTIMATE INTIMACY! by BluRosePoet8488.
1000 points, ended June 17, 34 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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I don't care for the paragraph style of writing. Seems like prose to me. A good effort though. Thank you for entering and good luck! Keep the ink flowing!
~Donna~
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to much like a story but good i like it
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Beautiful. I hope your muse comes back home soon. Seems it is really affecting you. Keep the ink flowing.
Rose
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