I, muse.

by Kimberly Bare

The muse is silent.

She sits waiting in some quiet corner
softly draped in silk.

She eludes my eyes as I watch a scarlet flush creep across
her alabaster face.

With a russell of petticoats, she rises.
Turning toward the door, she beckons me.
I am helpless but to follow.

Beyond the door I find nothing but a mirror.
Was she only a reflection of myself?


Posted on 09/11/2003
Copyright © 2022 Kimberly Bare

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 10/09/03 at 04:14 PM

Hmmm...quite the thought provoking reflection.

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