The Lady with Sword She is a Muse for a writer The emotions she can gather Touching the heart of a reader Her message felt clear, much deeper Who is she, but a poets Muse Who keeps all the readers bemuse Be they extroverts or recluse Mediocre, she has no use As for the words she wields as sword They all just come of own accord Dont force them out, mind cant afford The poets heart is her own lord Not for arrogance and abuse Change the world for better, she muse How her enemies to confuse With humor, others shed amuse Shape pounded and sharpened with fire Passions tempered, souls that wont tire Impurities burned from desire She strums the blade edges like lyre The fantasies she often use With realities, she would choose Her sword injustice will reduce Liquid grace! Oh, Poetry Muse Her poem is not just a weapon But a tool and lineage adorn Melted, molded in poets urn With the passage of each season The lady is a writers Muse Double edge sword of words she use Cuts lies, arrogance, and abuse But with other views she calls truce
Posted on: Tue, 09 Sep 2014 15:39:46 +0000
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