Something I wrote in response of the poem I read. After reading it again i enjoyed tweaking it which is strange for me when everything until now was pure and raw. But hope you will enjoy the read. Also visit the source of inspiration at ‘Everything I never told you‘ Some of you might already know her.
The poet, The muse!
Images emerge
onto blanc pages
words written
in consecutive
rhythmic sequences.
Eyes roll left to right
remembering
the ink spilled
blood red
from pierced veins
that wanted to be
loved,
read,
heard,
rising smudges
engrave thoughts
into words,
dreams to
embrace its reader
warm the heart
Indulge the soul.
Move every muscle
longing to praise
the muse in front of him.
Giving,
receiving
emotions,
uncalled,
in an attempt
to paint
coloured letters
into this empty box
and come alive
to dance
expose
caress
seep into the eyes
and burn a memory
to revisit
have it
Speak in silence
and flicker that flame
with gratitude
in front of the poet
that just became
a muse.
Please, let us
Keep on
Writing.
Being the poet
the muse.
©Ranting Crow2014-’15
We can inspire to get inspired.
Ranting Crow 