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?
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