She was a muse,
And I was a writer.
Across oceans and mountains,
I traveled to find her.
She danced through the air,
Floating on mist,
Warming my heart,
With a butterfly kiss.
Every word that was spoken,
Felt like that of a song,
Voice of an Angel,
Could never go wrong.
Yes, she was my muse.
And I was a writer,
With a gasoline soul,
And she the lighter.
Explosive love
Sparks at a touch,
Electricity through bones,
Gave such a rush.
Yes she was my muse,
And I was her writer,
Nothing to lose,
Just filled with desire,
There she stayed,
For oh so long,
Not a word written,
Before she was gone.
Comments3
Calliope is within us all who write poetry.
Andy
I wish I had more time to share my thoughts, but like many say (not easy to believe) you're a inspirational star!
Keep up the write my friend!
Always appreciated
wonderful flow, good write
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.