The poet, the muse,
possesses me and I
am captive to its voices
inside my head that tell
me that I must write and
utters words that come
down like soft snow or
leaves to form the bed on
which the new poem lies awake .

No exorcism can free
me, no priest that cures
the racking soul can
take this angel and
demon from me, for
truth be told, it is there
because I choose it so.

 

14/11/2024