Faint whispering breeze

upon your morning shadow

whispers your mystery.

I scrape up your roots

and follow your flashes.

Words sleep fitfully

in my mind until you,

my enchanting muse,

wrap me in your

inspirational blanket,

intoxicating me

with ethereal visions

and swirling auras.

Underneath my skin,

I feel nothing

until you throw me

a lifeline to entice me

to the light brushing

under my door,

awakening senses

arousing decadent flesh

teaching me to scribble

raw words,

venturing to vistas

with no horizons.

Teaching me to tiptoe

in the light of the moon

and shoot my soul

with laser beams

of creative energy.

Vibrations in veiled heart

levitate as I hold

my cup for you to fill.

I quiver when you move

into my writings

to reside with me -

clone of my soul,

inspiration of tides.

My past enters,

My heart pounds.

Your voice whispers,

"Write this down."

Laughter trickles

Like a brook.

"Go and write this

In your book."

Dreams come quiet

And full of light.

"Wake up love,

It's time to write."

Nightmares claw and

Haunt but then

I wake, I sob,

I grab my pen.

You speak bright words,

My mind you kiss.

You, dear muse,

Created this.

Brought to my door, many years ago, was a massive mountain of a man. An instant connection was struck and felt by us both as we laughed and enjoyed each other.

For whatever reason, this older and wiser teacher, decided our time together had come to an end. Our last year, helped me to grow in ways I am still learning about. The love was palpable. So much so, that I do believe it frightened him. He will always be in my heart. Always.

He's thought of randomly and often. Do I dare say daily? I've felt no other love like ours. Though I have given up crying for him regularly, I doubt very much if I shall ever stop missing him.

He still inspires.

Dear Muse,

I found you long time ago in a pub. You served me my cold beer and as you closed we smoked a cigarette.

I can't remember a lot but I still taste bitter beer on the tip of my tounge and feel your fingers in my hair. 

I remember your black hair and wide hips. Your soft curves and small waist. 

Red lips matching the colour on your toes, nails and of your lace.

But even if you were the most beautiful person I've ever kissed in my life - that's not the reason I think about you while I'm writing. 

It's the energy I felt at this very moment. The passion as you moaned with pleasure. 

Your green eyes turned all black in the moment of pure ecstasy.

It was pure and real- something I miss a lot lately.

I don't know your name or what your life's like and I'm not sorry to say "I don't care" because that is the truth.

I didn't love you- I loved how you made me feel- a feeling I want to give the people who are reading my stuff. 

Pure, honest, real.

You left ten seconds after we finished. 

You didn't kiss me goodbye and most of us won't get the chance to. 

I want my writings to be pure, honest, real and therefore sometimes as brutal as you were but always as beautiful as you are. 

Sincerely someone you can't remember 

When the day is long

and the world is just too much

I take comfort in her embrace

A lone star in the night sky

Guiding me through the maelstrom

Back to the harbor of her arms

Her alabaster skin is familiar

In the void of uncertainty

That plagues my every day

Those gentle sapphire eyes

destroy the walls I built

to cowardly hide behind

When she looks at me

I am defenseless

But I have no reason to run

She knows I am hers

And somehow... someway...

She has become mine

Her black, silky hair.

Her ivory teeth.

I become inspired when I play on her keys.

And I like to think that my piano is inspired by me.

When I feel I can't write,

I get up at night and I tickle her ivory keys.

And then, in the dead of the night, she laughs so beautifully.

I do not want to end this song, for fear of this moment being gone.

So I play and I play, into the morning and on!

He wore his hair in a ponytail,

Long beautiful hair

That fell to his waist.

Then, I’d noticed his hands,

Swinging the wooden sword

1, 2, 3.

Day after day,

I never saw all of his face.

Then, from the shadows of practice,

I saw it:

Always smiling with his mouth,

But never with his eyes,

They said he was strange,

But for me, the person

Who never believed in

Love at first sight,

Felt, “We know each other.”

He is always silent,

Talking with his eyes,

Listening to my complaints

When I’m about to explode

As he keeps swinging 1 2 3.

It’s okay to let others see weakness

Because strength starts there.

I keep trying everyday

To be that person

He said I could be

While he smiles more with his eyes

When he talks to me.

When you wake up in the morning when you are laying there half awake and you have already thanked the Lord for a new day and His mercies and your mind is floating in and out of consciousness, images come to you in the form of "light dreams" nothing heavy or deep just little wisps of reality and fantasy dialogue comes to you as a poem, spoken word, or play, it just comes and goes if you are swift you can catch on and write the information down.  My muse comes in dreams or when I am listening to music, mainly gospel it is as if God is speaking to me and telling what to tell the world in my own crazy mother wit wisdom.  The message I have for the world is real simple if you know who God is and He knows who you are ,just listen He will tell you what to do and what to write. God is my muse

My muse visits often

When I'm asleep at night

A compilation of people

I've met through my life

Some are uplifting

Filling me with hope

Others have harmed

Many repeatedly

An abundance of esoteric scars 

Which I cannot erase

Yet inextricably connected

To profound meditations

Encouraging synergy

Awakening the sublime

Its not coincidence,

but harmonic unchained events

stocking tissue around a surface

rooted by subtle glow.

I love you, invisible

but appearing.

I feel you, cold

but brightening.

Its not lost if it still make sense,

showing every night

my own contour

painted white.

Your own contour is

a halo of stars.

I love you, sarcastic

but lovely.

I feel you, powerless

but inspiring.

Your own form is an embodied cell,

almost as large as existence.

But my body wont fit you,

as vague as a man,

dressed as an astronaut

waiting to die in your dust.