My muse is not a butterfly

But she is sustained by gossamer wings

My muse is not a lullaby 

But to my soul she often sings

My muse is not a work of art

Though deep within my art is created

My muse is not a beating heart

Though my heart and hers connected

She is the whisper in dead still silence

She is the questions no one can answer

When the world is shrouded in darkness

She is the light bright shiny dancer

My muse is not a superhero

She is so much more

When I am drowning in the truth

Her fantasies are the surest shore.

The world is winding crushing blinding

She is the toadstool that shades my eyes

She is the birth, the burst of revelation

That pushes through as angels cry

My muse is not a butterfly

Though she soars on gossamer wings

My muse awakens where souls align

To brighter lighter mightier things.