A Musing Thought

Your light hit me as if you weren't there.
I could feel a lingering of your words,
Like echoes in a long forgotten cave.

Long since buried and recently avoided,
I now claim this space for my thoughts.
My mind simply cannot keep them at bay.

For weeks they have slept and for weeks they have starved,
I now finally offer a sip of water and some bread,
And watch as they create and make me scribble words on a page.

On that page, there would be no life, no plot, no twist and turns,
Had I not first been blinded by your light.
Keeping that in mind; what does that make you?

Does it make you a muse, my muse, our muse?
If so; whose muse are you?
To make it perfectly clear: there is a vacancy.

That is, if you got the time.