In truth, Muse, I dread thy inspiration;
The mid-night whisperings that tease my ear,
Once more igniting flames of obsession –
A passion undiminished despite years
Neglected; left smoldering and alone.
I must confess, ‘tis not thy tongue I fear,
And rather should embrace the songs you’ve sown –
Sacred melodies I alone can hear –
But, shame lives in my insufficiency:
Knowing mere words are unequal to your
Grace, and their praise oft’ falls short lyrically.
For this sin, thy pardon I do implore.
These rhymes – unworthy of the page they stain –Serve as reminders of love never gained.