So why do I think
A man's muse is a she?
He's seldom emote
Or write poetry.
But seldom's not never;
He's human it seems,
And thus not immune
To well-shattered dreams.
And if his strange muse
Is a definite she,
She's the internal part
Of his external he.
He might try retrieving,
And opening the gift,
Once put aside
In a long ago rift.
Here's to unwrapping,
Taking down from the shelf,
That long hidden treasure;
And enjoy the whole self.
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4 comments:
Lee, I know this is not the one I commented on yesterday, but in reading it again I am moved to say that perhaps it is the classical notion of "the muse" that persists in your mind. I don't know if I have a muse. I have what I like to think of as my Holy Ghost-writer. If I'm writing a piece for someone, or a piece that I want help with--I pray. I have yet to be let down on that score.
Kat
Kat,
Where to start? I have a number of thoughts to share with you, in response to your thoughtful comments.
They might be too long for a comment. I might write them as a post to the Muse. If I do I'll give you a heads up.
This one definitely strikes a chord with me. I appreciate what you are saying and need to plaster these words within my mind.
This poem will be featured on PWB on July 13th as part of our PWB July Collection.
Thank you for being a part of PWB.
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