Awake, my muse, who, bored by my own lust,
departed in the quietest of ways,
within, to sleep, pillowed by mem’ry’s dust,
between the journals of earlier days.
Willing to trade fantasy for rapture,
I want you to walk with me once again;
passing passions can no longer capture
all my interest to your exclusion.
I need you to my soul, and there’s the hope
that you may need me someday, to some end.
Without my muse, I’m limited in scope;
without full scope, I’m scarred and shall not mend.
With you beside me, my voice shall be strong,
And I will hold your int’rest with my song.
 
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