Hide and Seek

17th April, '09

Find me a muse,
and I can fall asleep,
tonight is not mine, it seems;
The dreams are too real,
the words are too slow,
even my thoughts do just as they deem.
The wind is too silent,
the moon has the blues,
the trees are all acting too secretive and still,
they've left me to sort out,
my thoughts on my own,
while they take a vacation,
over the hill.

The flowers are asleep,
and the night is a lover,
to some other wistful poet today,
I curl up on my pillow,
with a quill and a parchment,
and there's nothing really left to say.

So, I say, find me a muse,
to find me some peace,
before dawn lifts its eager, bright head,
my words are in hiding,
but my sleep is done biding,
and I really really must go to bed.