by Abigael21 Oct 2013
I wallow in it, learn to take it slow,
and luxuriate; savour the sensual
words smooth on the tongue, relax ,
sip it like fine old brandy. It's music
takes hours to compose; garnered from
any place, any time, it claims a lifetime
to prepare. I live with a ruthless muse
revisit a poem again, hone to uncover
the beauty of bones. Mother of Arts
I thought it easy to pen verse until ...
I discovered my muse will have my guts
in a last stand against - the instant.