Anne Winter Poet Rhyme

For My Muse

Poems preach the depth of dark, sorrowful hearts,
I have heard that this is where creativity starts,
Even when you look for the moon, you get enchanted by the stars. 
My muse, the spirit of my pen, is the air to my lungs,
Gush of poetry seeps onto the crisp white paper in timid tongues. 
His beauty brightens the raven inside of me, in my brain, the gloomy breeze,
All at once, his appearance brings a dance to the thousand sad and misty trees. 
A sorcerer he is or just pure beauty,
Solo moon on a dark evening in some city.

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John Loving Iii June 8, 2026 at 4:04 PM Many don't know what a muse is. But we do.

Daniel Henry Rodgers January 4, 2026 at 12:53 PM Dearest Anne, wow, your muse was really brightening the raven inside you, turning gloomy breezes into a dance for misty trees. I think you peeked into my own quiet struggles with writing through the dark, and why we keep chasing those stars instead of just the moon. So personal and alive. Winter Blessings, Dear Anne, Daniel

Mike Bayles January 4, 2026 at 8:00 AM Such an enchanting poem.

Paige Hind January 3, 2026 at 6:43 PM Lovely verses about your muse!! <3 Anne Winter January 3, 2026 at 6:54 PM Thank you so much :)

Jeanette Swan January 3, 2026 at 2:49 AM There is something about holding that pen! Lovely poem. J :) Anne Winter January 3, 2026 at 4:56 AM Thank you so much :)

Jerry Brotherton January 2, 2026 at 8:24 AM A wonderful poem Anne. So true, a muse can bring us to the highest emotional peaks at times but to the lowest depths when it leaves us alone. Anne Winter January 3, 2026 at 12:39 AM So true! Thank you so much for stopping by and reading my poem!

Sara Kendrick December 31, 2025 at 5:07 AM Yes, we never know when or how an inspiring thought, picture or scene can spark a poem of some sort. Thank you for sharing this one with us. Sara K Anne Winter January 2, 2026 at 1:19 AM Yes, it's so magical being a poet!