A poem about art and love by David Tombale: The kiss of my muse

Some poets are inspired by the people in their lives and the void that grows once those people leave creates the kind of feelings and responses that I put in this poem.

The kiss of my muse

I have no words left,

the lingering kiss of my muse has faded

like the light of morning fades from my watching eyes,

as dusk grays the evening shade

and my love for you takes on the hue of winter,

all white snow and gray ice that hangs like daggers from my

windows.

I have no words left,

spring has yet to shatter the freezing

shutters that keep me trapped in a world

of ash and snow, love and ice.

I have prayed for many months for

some warm breeze to blow,

to thaw these waking thoughts into a steady stream

that might one day ink a landscape of a better

rhyme, perhaps a battle scene,

a ballad of a fallen soul

but tonight I’ll drink alone and wallow

while a single raven perches outside this hollow,

to cry its sorrow across this field of letters and

aging books, their pages curling daily,

too brittle to understand.