Muse

 

The dusk comes and sleep invades all sensibility

But nothing may breach the hollow within a heart
That wishes not to be healed, nor lightened of want
Dream on then of fireworks and fantastic libretto
The artist is but a mirror for the wider world as muse
Reversed, laid upon the elastic tissues of intolerance
And where but in an artist's unique dreams of wonder
Are such new painted eclipsal dawns given such life