My muse for Faustine?

Sitting in the dark I look around and sigh


Is there no way around these troubling times?


Perhaps this mind of mine,


Is just to shallow to comprehend a rhyme.





There%26#039;s a painting on the wall


Of flowers and of the fallen


They sway to music then fall


Drawn by the minstrels call.





That wasn%26#039;t so bad


But will they understand


It was meant to be sad


Words are no longer mine to command





My talent has left me


To fend for my own


There%26#039;s nothing left for me to be


I must reap what I%26#039;ve sown





The darkness shifts!


And in comes my muse


How easily she lifts


This wordless ruse





My dearest, my only


My truest love


Your hair is unruly


Like the ruffled wings of a dove.





You look up at me and smile


Your blue eyes tell me a story


Of poor Faustine%26#039;s trial


And with you I wright sweet poetry.





When the tail is told


You walk away


Into the darkness you fold


And there you shall stay





Until I call you once more


As a stumbling writer


To share with me your lore


My dear little sister.

My muse for Faustine?
can you beleive chris beniot killed himself plus his wife and son?



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