The Effect of Me on Some Night Writer
Many are my muses who move me to wonder.
I dog them with a lunar vengeance and a fury.
But sometimes the gamma rays criss-cross
Or voltage varies from lightning’s pulse
And I become the almighty muse.
I shock, tempt, charm, insult or inspire.
How amazed I am to see myself leaking out,
The effect of me on some night writer
Penning into the wee hours of the moonscape
Unable to cease until all nuances are shaded in,
Until the last drips of blood crack on the page,
And the last glass is emptied and
Finally, spent, there is nothing left to say.
Brenda Bishop Blakey