My muse takes me from sunlight,
down paths of utter sadness.
Not cognizant when I begin to write,
where comes this scurrilous madness ?
Later life has been an evolution,
and happiness my constant companion.
As the earth makes another revolution,
I meet each day with optimistic abandon.
Somewhere hidden in secret places,
my muse slinks in shadowy caverns.
Shrouded phantoms without faces,
whose angst dipped pens burn.
Words and visions from the dept of soul,
and the creation personifys on it's own.
A hand over which I have no control,
writes passages from realms unknown.
