The Muse (A Poem)

One found surreptitiously; a blossom of a foreign season
A silhouette of everything one covets, creates, craves
All comes full circle as pulse quickens without reason
An illusory glance of spirituality, solely present to create

A sun on fire at the end and beginning
And from glow to inferno, void of all and any dimming

One found inescapable, the alleviation of artistic ailment
A shadow of an earlier self in its purest form
All falling into place by way of streaming ink, atonement
An open-ended dialogue where essence and intellect storm

The stars arouse fire from conception to actuality,
And from blackness to daylight align, then fade into obscurity.

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