Some days the sun sets
And I’m glad it’s over
My smile won’t stay on
Any longer
I want to close the door
On the last of the burning rays
Shut myself away
Hunker down in the cool shadowy places of my house
The golden floorboards
Silk beneath my feet
The smell of oils
Greeting me
As I walk into my writing room
Sink
And let the poetry flow
Why does it do so easily
When my mood is jagged and broken?
Like a soothing friend
My muse lies back
on the old blue couch
Crosses her odd socks
Taking me in
Dictating comforting things
And as I write
The gloom evaporates
My veins run clean
The sluggish toxins removed
Half an hour later
I can almost be induced
To smile again
A little time with the muse
Is all a poet ever needs
