Muse

For years,that’s how I felt.
Always the poet,never the muse.
Nobody home to wait for and no emotions fuse.

Always the one painting,the one creating.
Never the beauty being painted on canvas.
Never the one worth creating for.

Always the poet,never the muse.
Over the years,I put my skills into good use.
And yearned for a new beginning.

Yearned with my words, to be as beautiful as a nymph or fate.
To be someone somebody could relate.
A magic spark appeared someday.

A fairy handed it over,revealing a poem on paper.
The poet was a muse.
Somebody’s emotions fuse.

And words didn’t reuse.
Always the poet,never the muse.
That is what they say,right?

The ones who created words on paper for years.
Who put ink into their tears.
You can imagine how I felt.

I read the parchment of paper and my heart melt.
To be the muse somebody actually desired.
Through connection wireless,not wired.

Maybe the galaxy hired an artist to paint the muse.
And all those years of yearning were put to good use.
Now the muse and poet.

It’s all my heart ever wanted.
It didn’t want riches,diamonds.
Not even lakes evergreen.

A muse unfolded before your eyes.
Ascended from a lonely world,that’s no surprise.
Her eyes ethereal,her soul finally glowing.

And his love,through her veins it was flowing.
And her confidence was growing.
The monsters in the dark were growling.

But the words on the parchment of paper were everflowing.