The Muse

The Muse Waits

I was still and allowed you to hold me,
To mold this crysalis that was me
Into a butterfly in flight.

And I took flight in the day
and you observed my debut from afar.
You were pleased, I was your muse.

I am your creation and await your word.
Into the night I look for some sign from you.
That you remember me still.

Because you said you would.
Will this butterfly fly its only flight
and die a lost memory?

Still I await...
and I know you are there
And again, I wait for your hands
to mold me as you would want me.

But there is silence from you
and I wait, wings fluttering
looking for the thermal breeze that is you.

I wait.

A butterfly's life is short,
You let me free
My life is in your hands.
How shall it be?

I wait.