In Muse with Everything 

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In Muse with Everything

Every poem I wrote was
In a way a love poem
Dangled with stars, overboard on
How nature balances our dreaming
With a cruel reality of

Goodbyes and not-so-greats
Much earlier, I was an untamed idealist
Pure in how my poems scattered
Everywhere, with a heart for all things
And still, rain soaked vanilla fragrance

I’m still the dream within a dream
I do not hesitate the life my soul
Needed to live, there are no regrets
In karma, this dark twenty-something
Brawler with gratitude, this epic

Taster of green sparks of spring
The flowers were blue-eyed monsters
To me that I loved, I never had
Friends like dead philosophers,
I related to the gravity of literature

The way a young woman cannot touch herself
My purest joys were private, like that
Every poem I wrote was
About how our limits help us experience
What God could not lift out of us

We were born artists, in the way
Delicious music sings itself out of our sleep
And we awake, to what life brings
The tempo and the sage of us
The faces so sadistically temporary.

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