A Poets Tryst

There was no glee in my reticence While my silence fought the bard The heavens opened and I peered into Poe's past The lilies in this valley Could not bear my harping For they too had verses and lyres Strung stuck on them like wasps I was that wistful summer And winter bore not my weight The cold blue sky day Was my tryst and my dreams For surely as the moon, Poe's muse came by night And left in a huff, like a leaf broken in half There was no wrong or right Just my fight broken daily My melancholy was my morsel by day And my reverie was no breaker of ice For who could mend this muse Who swam in my every heart and bruise Who broke hearts of jade Who was a blue lily, a stare, and a snare It was every jackals day come Even then, who could mend this muse Who stared back at the mess Of many a jackals haunt Of broken jade and men