The Muse
He speaks to me from beyond the grave
His voice I often hear
I try to make him think I'm brave
Though I know he feels my fear
He follows me where ever I go
He haunts me when I sleep
He tells me things I need to know
That often makes me weep
He somehow makes me feel his pain
A tortured soul at best
Until he writes what must remain
His soul can never rest
His spirit calls to me each night
In a voice that spirits use
He tells my mind the things to write
His spirit is my muse
Of him I speak we've heard before
It's someone we all know
He came tapping, tapping at my door
He's Edgar Allan Poe
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