Copyright 2000 - M.D. Burke

Inspiration Haunts Me A whispering shadow splashing visions in my eyes Visiting me when the time suits her well She turns her dreams over and over in my mind meditatively and All too often… Inconclusively I write the story of her tears Her grief working my quill She uses my soul to weave the tapestry of her disillusion Entangling my thoughts in the wreckage of her intransitive senses Her sorrow becomes my own I still cannot account for the waves of arbitrary blackness crashing against my spirit And I hope she does not ask me again where angels go to die Some people were just truly meant to be alone My solitude is her scribe And yes, she told me her name A secret between the two of us