The Muse

“The trouble with a muse,”
(my dear friend said)
“is that one cannot control it.”

I am bound by the aches and pains,
By the emptiness and the questions that remain
In the absence and the silence of this reign
Of my forever love affair with you

I am bound to find the answers that may hide,
To bear the passion and the weakness of our tide,
The forever pull of being at your side
In my forever love affair with you

I wonder sometimes: If you loved me true,
If your sad heart could calm its changing hue,
If your mind's eye could see, at last, its due,
If your dear soul could finally renew
In your forever punishment of you
Would we, at last, unlock the clues
To a forever life of me-and-you?

But, who am I to ask of you to shift
When all we are has led us to this rift
Where our hearts hold fast and souls can freely drift
Amidst this waning love affair with you?

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