Poem: Inspiration

She appears
unexpected but welcome
A vaporous figure impossible to mark with the eye
She gently lets her newborn tears fall upon me
They burn my flesh with each precious drop
carving tiny canals and pathways
a network of scars dances over my form
born across the years

The pain is terrible
but nowhere near the ache
from her mysterious absence
The satisfaction from this burning
exceeds that emptiness

The maddening touch of her tears
grants me hideous strength and intoxicating passion
After all that has happened
I recover the will to take up my tools again

I dream of the soothing balm of perfection
Instantly laugh at myself
a short bark
Then I push it down and return to the struggle
Perfection will not be mine
She remains aloof
Never seen, never felt, only dreamt
For now there is only this contention

Dodging between the terrible jaws
dreadful plainness laying below
cryptic inscrutability rising above

I must draw strength from the her severity
then struggle to keep her fire burning
as I slave to complete my work

She will leave soon
Shortly thereafter her tears will dry from my skin
It will carry only the echoes of this pain
until even those die out and I grow numb again
Then only craftsmanship will sustain me
until her next visit
My tender tormentor

Oh, so that’s where she went.

I was wondering with whom that muse was cavorting on many a winter night.

I feel much better now that I have my answer.

Aye, she can be fickle, that one.