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Pyrrha Jul 2018
Out of all these poems I've written of love and longing,
Out of all these years searching in the sea of people,
I still yet to understand how it's possible to have words without a muse

I often wonder what it would be like to have a muse without words
I believe it would feel suffocating
As you choke on all the words you long to exhale within your next breath
For a poet to be trapped by words is to be trapped by passion

Sometimes my heart swells up so big it walks across a sea of words and sinks into the deepness of the waters
Lost among the clearer beats on land
An abnormality pushed away from love like an ancient curse buried in my skin
One day i'll make it learn to swim rather than let it sink and bathe in sin

The question still remains
Would it be better to have a muse and feel like drowning,
Or to have the the words to accompany the lonely?
Pyrrha Jul 2018
I find it strange that when I look into your eyes I'm not met with an endless starry sky
The world around me doesn't freeze or turn monochrome around everyone but you
I don't see an endless sea or visions of a setting sun, no matter my determination
So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words I've heard all my life describe?

Yet my heart still drops when you walk into the room, even when your focus is a place far off
People say it's like a flutter but this is far too heavy to use such a light word to describe such a feeling
It's painful, but I know it isn't something ominous or bad because it feels right
How do I know it is love if none if my words describe it right as they should?

I get it every time our eyes meet or you tilt your head and smile with your head in the clouds
I get it when you laugh to yourself or say something hardly above a whisper
When you focus so hard you ***** up and let out that silly sigh of aggravation and I feel such deep affection
Yet is it alright for me to say what I feel is love when I can't even tell myself what love is?

I don't think your eyes need starry skies or my stomach needs a million butterflies
Your smile doesn't need to illuminate the room and my thoughts for you don't need an anchor
Your love shouldn't have an expectation and my words don't need to have a proper diction

Perhaps I'll see it in your heart or feel it in your touch one day if you feel the same
Regardless what the world has sold me with their modern day poetry
I promise you that no matter how hopeless I become I will find out for myself
What it means to love you wholly even if I have to find out from loving at a distance
I don't understand why I write so many poems about love when I am not even in love. It is so frustrating to have words without a muse and a muse without words.
Cné Apr 2018

Many days without a muse.
Whatever shall I do?
Too long away from poetry
and sans a point of view

The moon has been so beautiful.
But words just would not come.
The sunrise has been glorious
the sunsets strike me numb.

Romance is in the air tonight.
Perhaps a muse will see...
And strike a chord that gives
a voice to verses now in me.

I close my eyes and see much more
than sight can ever see.
Colors swirl behind my lids
and rainbows, vividly.

Butterflies and hummingbirds
a ship of clouds glides by
Howling wolves in the wilderness
a pink and azure sky

And so, I find I need no sight
to find my inspiration.
The mind is far more "visual"
and gives its own sensation.

Just writing....
Cné Jun 2017
Be my muse tonight, my love.  
Inspire me in my dreams.
In poetry, I'll think of you
where starlight always gleams.

As Morning Glories catch the sun,
I'll capture you in rhyme.
My heart will sing your praises
while you make my spirit climb.

The raindrops are a mockery
that try to match my tears,
which fall like diamonds on my cheeks
each time our parting nears.

Your eyes like pools of amber
often take my breath away.
Your lips demand attention
and my ardor doth obey.

Be my muse tonight, my love.  
Ensnare me with a kiss.
Enslaved my heart shall ever be
a prisoner of your bliss.
Cné Mar 2018
I smell the air
and taste the breeze.
I sense a presence there;
a kindred spirit next to me
that hovers everywhere.
Mused by Jeff Gaines, as my conscience
Shaine Fraz Jun 2016
How fortunate
Our color blends unintentially,
Wildly with thoughts bleeding outside the lines what have we started: again

And again I ******
And again you absorb
And again this easel-- summoned
And again your vellum-- softened

Perched on a stool,
Vibrant as mangos --ripening
I chose you, the spectrum
Unknown to most

The only museum I go to.
© 2016 by S Fraz All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of S Fraz
Cné Dec 2017
You
You've ...
   got me burning
      my mind's wheels turning
                    no matter how hard
                               i've tried
        i always find myself
    tongue tied
mmm tongue tied
              with yours
           my libido soars
          touching you,
touching me
   You're all
         that i see
             lying *****
                     in my bed
           can't get that image
          out of my head
      kiss me,
touch me,
    feel me,
          want me
               i can still
             smell Your scent
      and all my energy's spent
trying really hard
    not to care
          yet i still feel
Your fingers in my hair
      my hair draped
           over Your face
                       it wasn't
              the time or place
       me on top of You
it was all i could do
to not melt
   from the ecstasy
                         i felt
                         kiss You,
                            touch You
                               feel You,
                         want You.
Sunday morning thoughts
dmperez Dec 2016
on my knees
before my muse
drinking of her inspiration
/#dmperez
Cné Apr 2017
He soars high, floating in her wake
Inhaling every detail of her flowing grace
Her brushes of touch, causing him to shake
Delicate weaving hearts of leather and lace

Inspiration sails high, with her drifting in his mind
Ripples from deep emotions, she elegantly paints
Closing his eyes, entrusting her, flying blind
Together, one with the other, interlinking chains

Flickering fates of fireflies under stars aligned
Precious moments in time, worlds collide
A rendezvous in the Milky Way, by design
Consummating souls kiss passionately, ignite
to be ...
da Vinci's "Mona Lisa"
Vermeer's "Girl with the Pearl Earring"
or "The Girl from Ipanema"
only in my dreams ...
Addison René Jan 2017
my inspiration
lies in the palms
of your calloused hands,
drips from them like
wine onto
the floor -
into my mouth
lifeonLSD Oct 2018
Take the pain and paint it
into anything you can imagine

Paint until each drop
represents the tears you shed

Paint until each ****** represents every
touch you erase from your memory

Paint until each color on your plate
represents the blood that bleeds from your heart

Paint as if you can take every last
bit of it and pour it out on canvas

Paint as you are the only who can put it into picture and turn it into
the beauty that holds it all in place
lmbf Mar 2018
I can't write for you anymore.
Yes, I have hundreds of loosely scrawled letters written, typed, stored in one or three or five of the books I've taken over five years in a milk crate from city to state to small town and back again.
Yes, it took me an arm, a leg and a misguided rebound to get over you
But alas, here we are.
Yes, I know you won't miss me - though I know at one point you did care
But it's time for us to say goodbye.

I will dot the period, not the semicolon
(like you did a million years ago)
Seal the last letter with a smile
And never turn back.

Not until my teens ask me, "Mama, who were you before the world broke its promises?"
Will I pull out the milk crate
Filled with loosely scrawled letters written, typed, stored
And talk about the curly-haired blonde boy who first broke my heart.
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