Of Love and Muses

I could cry instead, though it’s much wiser to write. I could stare out the window upon a polluted metropolitan night. But instead, my thoughts are of you. A broken phantom, too shattered too smile, told me of her love for you. I couldn’t fathom what to do! Can a mind, a man, a thought, a poem really move Time? Can truth beyond all beauty be relayed in just a rhyme? Love conquers the muse. (Or is it the other way around?) I heard your strong voice singing in a peculiar sound. You could have been a chanting monk, on a secluded valley far away. Or upon a meadow of flowers you’d most belong. Please, could you again sing me another song?