Angel Muse

 This is  the first poem that I wrote for my friend.  It is the partner, and the friend of 'Angelica'.

No wall so strong; no masonry robust;

No wooden door so stout; no heart so sturdy;

No soul inviolate that passion, requiring entry,

Can be repulsed. 

Somewhere, somehow, a Muse entered my life.

A Muse, perhaps; an Angel of delight;

An Angel and a Muse, became my obsession

And for a space threw from my mind, my reason.

She entered like a spectre, an apparition

Gently offering friendship and an ear

In which I hesitantly poured my thoughts and words

But words became intense,

And when my heart burned with verse and prose,

I also saw a mirror of my soul and heart

And yes, my body, for all were in deep tune.

She devoured each word I wrote and spoke.

She fell into the rhythm of my verse and soul.

She devoured my words… my soul.

Within that rhythm beat our hearts… as two… as one.

She was my Muse. She was my Angel. She was my Lover

She, my Muse.  She, my Angel.  I, her Lover.

And then… bleak day, she drew herself back from me;

Rejected all we’d felt and hoped and shared,

Accused me of not being so substantial,

“You are a phrase,” she said, “an ornament; unreal”.

For in her deepest soul, a whisper from her spirit

Unkindly told her what she loathed to hear,

A love like ours was more than she could bear.

She could not cope with me, the me substantial.

Her concept of me was as of a shade,

She could not undertake me as I was….

For I was more than that. I was much more

Than eloquence, for I have substance.

Despite her thinking of me only;  

Despite insane obsession of my self,

Despite my invasion of her dreaming,

Her dreaming, both sleeping and awake;

Despite the laughter, passion and shared intimacies

Despite bleak days when nought lifted her spirit…

Nothing! Nothing more than thoughts of me;

Despite her broken heart when we weren’t together;

For anger at foolishness was no stand in for
The burning pain of distance from her lover...

... despite all this, she said she didn't love me,

And closed her heart and soul to me forever.

Regretting every intimate word that we’d exchanged.

And yet, my Muse encouraged me to write…

My distant Angel begged me to continue;

To put my thoughts; my heart; my soul,

Not only onto paper, but to share and read and speak

Those thoughts, that all may hear.

And so I wrote and filled each word and phrase

With thoughts of her, and how she filled my heart

And wrote with loving care how, in my eyes

She shone and shimmered, a spectre of delight.

And then, at last, when I had written,

And when my heart and soul filled every page,

I brought them to her and I offered,

Offered trembling, all my thoughts.  

She stands there in her room, in evening sunlight

Reaching out her hand and takes the sheaf

The space between us is electric…

Her fingers brush my hand; the silence roars.

She moves towards the window, the light around her like a halo

Halo of evening sunshine… A halo round my Angel.

And now she lifts those thoughts up to her eyes

 Lifts them to her lovely eyes

And reads what there I’ve written.

And while she reads, I watch, scarce breathing;

And see her sweet mouth traces the sounds but silently

I see her lips move, and the tiniest flicker of a smile

Creases the tended skin beside her mouth;

Brings the faintest blush to her dear cheek.

And do I see? Do I see?  The sweetest tear begin to form?

The vaguest hint of moisture on her lids, her lash…

And then I know that in my verse, she reads some words I’ve used

Some words that bring to her a happy thought…

A memory of when we met, perhaps

A mirror of a day we spent alone… alone together.

And with the sight of those red lips, that mouth, that cheek

Those tender eyes, my heart swells so within my chest and tears,

Pure manly tears of love burst forth and I am once again

Her knight, her slave, her lover… her beloved.

This poem has a partner. It was written with two people in mind, Each poem should be able to stand alone but if you would like to read the other one, go to Angelica.