when set upon by mischief's muse
time and space cannot refuse
on summer day or winter night
to burn a candle long and bright
while slipping pen along a page
or skipping hands across the keys
throwing passion's song and burning rage
against the world's caustic gaze
set free from time's consuming grasp
a hope, a prayer these words will last
until the broken, candid heart
burns to ash the muse's spark