Notes About The Poem
Hélène, by Gustave Moreau
You Are My Muse - a Tribute To Eileen
I wonder: would you make me your mistress
lost in a world of poetry under your wings
I’ll celebrate heaven's gift; more to me a tortured love
wretched wishes: life's greatest anguish
our heaven's in sight, you see my eyes
voyeur, I see you looking at me
don't try to love me if you can’t, I will not break
the day will come I can resist you
taking a chance, there is beauty; life’s symphony
gentle murmurs – the scent of your soul
indulgent love, you tempt me – hold on to me
to bloom in red flame amidst the fallen petals
if you wonder how do I love thee
I'm here because words spoken by you
you touch me with your words from your heart’s caverns
your maze of words blazing across your sky
speak my language; the coupling of our souls
I have seen those lips, that smile
you said there's more to life what you want
life is short; kiss away my pain
there is a place beyond perceptions
from a distance, I love to watch you fly
fireflies or fairies: the difference between you and me
out of the wilderness I thirst for an angel
way back when the day we met it was easy
my need for love; a place to lay my head
in tenderness of night touch me like you mean it
in the moment the journey of your lips
my lover's words a melody divine
glitter on my skin, serenading the senses
stream of memories; you listen to me
they ask me why I love you through the mist
you keep me grounded – must it be black and white
you are my spring; you are my sanity; my muse
I always believed wishes are for fools’ judgement
if I were stronger the essence of love the reward nearby
a dream within reality, a chasing after the wind
if I could hold back the dawn: serenity and peace
I used to write for you; just let the poet be
your words pale, were I to know you too will go
don’t tell my heart; let me write; don’t censor me
the day you gently let me go, my love endures
once love has died spare a few kinds words for me
remembered echoes put on hold; I'll die in peace
when velvet turns to stone, let my tombstone read:
the scent of poems past never to be erased
Poems by Eileen Manassian:
A collage of titles spanning a period from 2012 – 2021, WITH PERMISSION.
NB Every single word of this poem, including the title ('You are' & 'My Muse') was derived verbatim from 112 titles -- list on request (out of possibly near 1,700 titles) of Ms Manassian’s poems, hence I did not put the poem in quotation marks.
Poetic form:CENTO.
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