hands you the moment
of realisation
of realisation
on her silver platter
as her gift-horse mouth
gently neighs
all the words you cannot say
(the words that matter)
she says “if only you could
know my love, that
when spoken, words grant
strength to bear..
the feelings that
gave birth to them.”
–
Inspiration comes then;
for every realisation,
Follows a conclusion
aching to be coupled
with a solution
that inherently evolves
into a resolution…
an interpersonal revolution
that is entirely you.
–
He whose blood
rushes to his head
Will turn to find
his muse is dead
–
He. Aghast.
“But what is it you
would have me ask?”
the muse smiles
and comforts;
“you just did love;
for every answer
begins with a question.”
–
<end/arken2014>