I love this. This is such a great poem about writing. Wish I had thought of it. Alas! I guess I’ll stick with the muse that only wants to be awake when I’ve been deprived of sleep but am too tired to think. Reblogged from wolfeauthor.wordpress.com.
I’m not a poet…
Never got the hang of the rhyme.
But my words they come easy in matters of crime.
It’s a shame, really, that the burning of a fuse
can elicit more emotion in my words than my muse.
There she sits sweetly, only feet away,
inspiring a story of the heroine’s way.
The agent, she whispers in soft, tender breath,
then launches her fury in a fight to the death.
She’s taut, and lean, and fleet of foot,
a most dangerous vixen in our hero’s life put.
But sweet and warm, dedicated to a fault,
with fierce heart conviction, her devotion won’t halt.
The imperfect man with the secrets that hide,
she loves and is patient, a most perfect bride.
Trying and tempting, the muse has her power,
and demonstrates fully as she seizes the hour.
No hesitation in the story line flow,
it spills from my…
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