My muse is elusive, a form undefined;
Half real, half imagined, a depth unexplained –
The sound and the fury of yearnings unchained,
A song for the deaf, a sight for the blind.
She holds the fiery torch, imperishable flame,
Her face I see pensive, her heart can I reach,
Her thoughts to divine, her secrets to preach
In worlds yet unmade on paths with no name.
The infinite terrain with no end and no start,
Where words are abandoned, unread and unheard,
Gives canvas and brush to paint her unblurred.
My muse is an artist. My muse is an art.