My muse is blind for she does not see
The world that shatters beneath my feet.
Her deep blue eyes don’t look beyond
The fences around, the invisible bonds.
My muse is deaf for she does not listen
My hopeless prayers that sound so distant.
Her perception is altered by those who try
To smother my lament and drown my cry.
My muse has scents of a pure red rose
That grows in the gardens through winter snow.
My muse’s fragrance is sweet and yet
Is poison ivy to those who dare.
My muse has skin of silky sky
To touch and caress they try and try.
In the hands of the angel that wrap around
They wish to die, they wish to drown.
My muse has lips of cherry flavor
Of sweets and drops, an acre savor.
To taste and die it is my wish
My last in my bed of anguish.
My muse is gone and lost as well
My muse has found a heaven in hell.
I know the stories she left to tell
But I could never say farewell.
