Lately I found myself
Amidst my covers
Yet unable to surrender
To peaceful slumber;
I kept feeling the urge
To create, to pass the time
Awake, working on art, lest
My nights be as vacuous as my days.
I became voracious in
My drawing, producing
A portfolio with only
Shades of graphite.
Still the next night
Would come, and
Again the mania would
Possess my thoughts.
So I began to delve
Into the sounds of my
Imagination, conceiving
Wondrous symphonies.
Yet still I found myself
In the sea of linens
Instead of losing myself
In the clouds of dreams.
Then lo! the answer came
Like water falling on rock:
I pined not for graphite on
Paper or song on staff
But rather I longed for
The flow of words
Cascading as water
From your lips
Which pooled into a
Pond of letters, dissolving
And reforming until they
Grew, becoming an
Aftergrowth of green foliage
Sprouting from the rushing
White and turquoise blue
Of your spoken word.
I miss my muse who
Made my imagination reap
The wealth of my thoughts
Into countless combinations of prose.
I miss my muse who's
Rune created a haven
In which my verse could
Flourish and abound from my pen.
We create an oasis out of
Our sounds and syllables-
A wellspring of stanzas and verse,
A fountain of prose and poetry-
As idealists and transcendentalists
We painted our reality out of
Our thoughts and dreams, our
Perceptions and realizations of nature;
Our meeting came like the
Creation of a dual galaxy:
Slowly forming in a
Passing cycle between two,
Our minds slowly spun
Together as two hearts of
Our own worlds, until
All at once the two were one.
Forging a new galaxy,
Simultaneously of you and me,
We created a breeding ground
Where your poetry met mine
Resulting in the accumulation
Of poems that shined against the
Vast emptiness of space as stars:
Tiny beacons amidst a sea of nihilism.
How could I sleep when I have
Entire galaxies to craft with
Words into poems, and poems into
Stars? I miss my muse of creation.
