March 3, 2016

Lost Words

My muse is dead
no words she whispers
no thoughts of time and space
not one heart beating with pain
loneliness and love
just puffs of fine smoke adrift…

My muse is dead
she left me
pen in hand
smudged lines on paper
yellowed with age
as if she knew all along

My muse is dead
others knew before me
eyes unopen
ears not hearing
their lips pursed to tell me
none did, no, not one
till I, too, was dead