Once upon a time, I was a Muse
Beloved of a poet, cherished in meter and rhyme
His greatest fear was he’d be forgotten by me
If he only knew the indelible print he’s left on mine

For it seems that having taken it and broken it
Remade into something that serves only to beat
To keep me alive but never to feel again
I’m a shade, frozen soul, a voyeur’s peep

He has made himself unforgettable
And I sleepwalk through my existence
Untouched, unloved and wishing fervently
For release from this subsistence

And the greatest pain is this irony
To hear he truly loved me after his death
Leaving me only the words in letters
Never conveyed until his last breath

~ kei
16 October 2014

4 thoughts on “Irony

  1. Funny how that works sometimes, love lost and locked in memory. I did a piece in the UK that speaks to your words. “Inside the heart of a muse” and willow weep no more which I believe you own.
    All the best,


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