MUSE

The muse is true

I speak to you

grace abounds in the fervent hearts of the lost

despairing, shelter-less, in the ideological frost

the bloodletting ,and in kind

dark interiors of mind,

splinter caravans of self doubt,

spinning secular sarcasm that protrudes,

illusions miring the mind with

perplexing puzzles that delude,

velvet words she utters without cost,

calling the innocent and the lost,

invoking the childhood dream that was once

swept away in the voice of the majorities scream,

Humility opens her hands

inviolate of temperate sands

to the rich and poor

for those seeking entry

she opens her door

no rhyme nor reason

original she remains, through the winds

and rains,

of all four seasons,

enter all whom shake and shrill and

abide in the warm even glow of humility's triumphant will..