My Muse

To look upon my pen or paper
It seems distant
A thought I had yet to cultivate

But there comes the spirit
She taps my head
And my creativity initiates

She tantalizingly spins words in threads
They fling about between my ears
Gesturing with fingers long and thin
She sits me down and passes me a pen

The hand, it writes!
Wrist chasing the pen
To slow down - never!
Just about when...

It stops as she has turned around
Said 'here's to you kiddo' and then left town
I look in the mirror, a new person found
The quill dropped, the tip falling loud

But she's there, in the words
Foggy and blurred
She changes form and twists her shape
Though she may not apparent most times

She's constant and true
Fruitless at times
But always my companion

So once again, she pats my head
She pulls up the cover and slides me in bed
For now, it is silent, the pen not in sight
For it's dreams now that she helps me write