You Ask Me

You ask me.
What inspires the words that boggle all who dare read what I give to thee?

I tell you.
It is the world all around you and me.

You ask me.
What causes the language that ensnares you which flows from my finger tips?

I tell you.
It is the feel of a lover’s kiss upon my lips.

You ask me.
What causes you to become consumed by curiosity and peculiarity?

I tell you.
It is the uncertainty and oddity.

You ask me.
How do you boggle the mind in such a way?

I tell you.
I think of the life around me, everyday.

You ask me.
Where do you find the proper muse to bring tears, anger, and to confuse?

I tell you.
My muse is not hard to find.
My muse is deaf and it is hearing.
My muse is seeing and blind.
It does not feel but it can touch.
It does not taste but it can devour.

You ask me.
What is this wondrous being?

I tell you.
It is living.
It is dying.
It is here.
It is there.

You ask me.
I tell you.

My muse is red with anger.
My muse is green with envy.
It is blue with sorrow.
It changes with every marrow.

You ask me.
I tell you.

My muse is colorful.
My muse is flush.
My muse is sound.
My muse is silence.

My muse is all around use.

You ask me.
What is this muse of which you speak?
Please tell me!

I Tell You.

My muse is unknown.
My muse is unseen.
It is oblivious.
It is obvious.
My muse is part of love and strife.

My muse is life.