I Call Her Muse

She spins incessantly, 
her threads of finest silks,
and weaves her webs of words
bled from the depths of my heart;
drawn from the well of my soul,
and lifted from the pages of my mind.

I am helpless to resist her,
when she burrows in my brain
I cannot shake her,
yet she leaves me when she pleases
and I’m lost when she is gone,
though I’ve never known her name.

She ignores my thoughts
and delves into my dreams;
reaching far beyond the halls
of spent emotions, and drags 
reluctant phrases through my veins
and leaves me drained.

And then she paints 
a picture steeped in wonder
across a canvass dipped in hues 
of morning sun and evening rain
before she blows out all the candles
and puts her spinning wheel away.

Then she lifts her brush of gold
and signs my name
across the bottom of the page
and lets me take the credit 
for her magic, as she fades away
and whispers I’ll be back again.



november 2004
©Janet Reid






Awarded by New Horizons ~ Dec 2, 2004






Awarded by Poetic Constellations