The Muse’s Reply:

What do I get out of it? You ask.
(Or you may not.)

But it’s a good question, nonetheless.

I am words that you’ve merged with archetypes,
memories, and dreams. Or nightmares;
it is I who speak
your truth.

I am the thousand gentle paint strokes
of your skilled and supple hands.
I exist within the litheness of your arms
as you create my perfection.
(Or my sins.)

I am your madness, your thirst.
Your hunger for being.
I am your freedom,
your immortality.

I am the steady earth beat of rock that you’ve
tenderly balanced with mortar and time.
The blessing you offer back to the gods
who made me; I am that.

And I am its erosion.

I am sung into being;
danced and drummed into elusive
existence. Evading reality and
weaving in between moments
of total aliveness, I emerge.

I am nothing other than everything
your breath has ever touched.

And then I fade,
fade away.


Written by:  ANONYMOUS CAT


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