Purpose and prose elude me,
My words circle incredulously,
Leaving me lost where I once began,
Awaiting a muse with a guiding hand.
If I could just clearly state my thoughts,
Poetry and music might be for naught,
But what kind of ending would that wrought?
Is the path I seek still worth being sought?
And yet clearly my thoughts do shout,
Past a silver tinged mouth,
Echoing forever and ever without,
Ever making a single sound.
Where do you hide my muse?
Are you seeking me as I seek you?
Or have you forever said adieu,
And marked me as acceptable to lose?
I pray thee not to surrender me,
But rather entreat me to continuously recite,
Of the moon and stars and darkened sky,
Of rivers and snow and the daylight bright,
Of the feeling of being lost without you,
And how wonderful is your hand, my muse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
echoing for ever and ever - love