My Muse Marches Out Lines of Poems

Poems tiptoe into my dreams and fill up all my sleeping space Thoughts of mythical creatures, maybe a wonderful brilliant thing They are swirling and twirling, each in own unique place. Without any thought of my well-being, they banter and they brace. Throwing out a plethora of inane ideas, without any obvious taste or grace. Subliminal faerie clips, float into my lavish fantastical dreams on an angel’s wing. Unaware, I slumber on, my breathing at a quiet, gentle, meditative pace. Knowing not what my early morning poetry will savagely or lovingly bring. Poetry seizes me in my sleep, and holds me hostage even after I am awake. Unaware while I am astral traveling, but morbidly aware when I leap out of bed. Her metaphors and nuances wind around my dendrites, without a quiver or a quake. Unbeknownst to my quieted essence, as I travel around moonlight’s silver lake. Quickly aware, when I begin throwing out ideas and full passages the minute I awake. My imagination is spouting phrases and rhymes that seem curiously well-read. Thoughts slither and sneak around me in teasing ways, like the skin of a sleek snake. My muse marches out lines of poems, knowing my therapeutic need to be so fed. Written 2-21-2019 Contest: Poetry and Me Sponsor: Silent One