Stomping in frustration,
through a field one day,
I noticed a shining little treasure,
that was thankfully
placed in my way.
My sole was then,
covered thick with mud,
as memories of her,
came rushing up,
like rising waters of a flood.
Looking for a place
to wipe my shoes,
it was then I heard,
the loving voice of my muse.
Soft spoken and quite gentle,
yet forcefully instrumental,
our fated connection in the field
had seemed coincidental.
Her qualities transcendental,
her inspiration fundamental,
affects me deep down to my core,
like some powerful elemental.
Tells me now of doubts within,
and of how,
to her chagrin
she couldn't possibly inspire me,
impossible after where she'd been.
I laid down next to her,
right there and right then,
got close enough,
to touch her skin,
laid her head upon my chest,
nestled lovingly underneath my chin.
Told her of my half-lived life,
of how a flame can have a twin.
Told her that it's never too late,
for a brand new life to begin again.
Told her of my deepest dreams,
that her heart would find some peace.
How on that day,
somehow, some way,
the negativity would be released.
Like bags of sand,
that weighed her down,
that made it hard to stand.
It all dropped away,
so effortlessly,
when I reached out
and took her hand.
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