The Muse

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