Muse

It was in the silence

Of the night

She came to him.

As she entered:  

The scent of Frankincense;

Purification of space.

The sound of wind through the trees,

The buzzing honey bee heavy with pollen.

A lover’s sigh;

Ecstatic contentment.

As she exhaled apples would ripen.

With her smile wine would flow.

Without words she shared

Divine illumination.

His hand would dance

Across the page;

Passionate consummation

Of  words.

In the morning he would wake

Alone and spent.

Her scent lingering in the air.

Heralding his Metamorphosis.

 

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Posted on May 28, 2013, in art, Poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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