I would like to think I'm a better painter than a poet but I do enjoy writing an occasional sonnet in the Shakespearian form. So here is a sketch for today with an attempt at poetry to match.
Who is this Muse?
Who is this dream who gives my art its thrust?
Who is this muse who makes me feel and see?
Is she a lover just to quench my lust?
Oh, sadly no, nor may she ever be.
She's more than simple passion and desire.
A thought of her and images take life.
Her slightest smile will set my heart afire.
A heart where art and craving live in strife.
My fantasies soar higher than my fears.
Yet as Icarus my dreams they fly too high.
And plummet down into a sea of tears
Where reality makes my wishes die.
The images and art she does create
Must satisfy this love and endless wait.
