The Muse

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Your eyes are raised to heaven

When I'm sitting on the floor

At your feet. What am I for?

Do I create or just translate

Between you and your mind

The art you'll never find

And when your pen runs out of ink

You'll close the book and with me

Leave behind your memory

Are you brilliant? Are you blind?

Would you have nothing more to say

If I ever flew away

In the end is it you is it me

Do I have anything? What am I for?

But when I walk out that door

Your prayers are plenty when you have

An empty page before you

And still I may adore you

For you take dictation better

Than most poets true compose

Your lines far surpass those

You pray for what you know will come

Your confidence is flattering

But still it's quite another thing

Compelled to inspire when to dream

Is all you really understand

The letters from your hand

Will never quite belong to you

And even then I only pray

That when I leave you'll softly say

Goodbye

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