Bereft

My muse has fled

she’s flicked her hair

 

& disappeared.

 

She’s sick of

faithless lovers

 

rainy days,

the tick, tock,

 

of mortality.

 

My muse has left

she’s whirling with

 

the kestrel, & I’m

chasing sunbeams

 

a golden pathway

left by winged feet

 

wide expanse of

blue blue yonder

 

where the light

glistens.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.