She’d returned – much to his relief.
Not that she was physically with him.
Such was not the way with his Muse.
She stood silently by only in spirit

Often he wondered why
she ever came to him at all.
What had he to offer
this glorious and gentle Goddess
who seemed to want nothing from him?

Yet even to say she came to him
stretched the truth of the situation.
 Fleetingly her image emerged -
 in all its elegance -
only to evaporate.

A fleeting phantom with words few.
In her wistful wake
he would call out to her –
seemingly only to go unheard.
So little was still so much.

His Muse she is.
So her fleeting shadow sowed
its secret spells within his soul
setting him inspired.
And a second spell also:
love for her.

How foolishly futile he found it:
to feel such feelings
for a fleeting phantom.
More foolish yet
his frustration passed into piqué
and he repelled her.

Regret became his reward
for his rejection of her.
Empty turned the armory
for his artistic attacks.
Empty too his heart –
save for the aches.

The monster of love lost
howls horribly loud pain
that echoes only memories
of what was and what’s wanted.
So with his.
Perhaps she heard.

His Muse proved merciful.
She showed herself again.
She set inspiration in his soul
along with love and longing.
The monster went silent.

A future full of her fleeting phantom
is the hope he holds.
That this phantom takes flesh
for his fingers to feel
is his fondest dream.

For this moment his fondest dream
is but to be found in sleep.
He slips there soon
in a sad surrounding silence
of her absence.