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Lay Down Your Soul On Me
It meets my eyes, a vacant stare.
In nakedness, it seems so bare.
What more of life is there to write?
Sunsets, dawn or the lovers' plight?
Plethora of words prance and tease,
seduce my heart, but give no ease,
instead run wild, like weeds untamed-
they have no form, no home or name.
Blank paper mourns like barren land
and whispers through its outstretched hand-
I'm fallow, yes, but I shall speak
of the secret potions that you seek.
Just trust, lay down your soul on me.
The muse will gush forth fruitfully.
Complete me with your seeds of lore,
open wide the sequestered door.
Let your passion descend like rain
upon this paper's barren plain.
Your inner sun guides what you know-
once bare pages, now a fertile meadow.
Copyright ©
Ron VanHooser
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