The Light Of My Muse Poem by DM W

She creates the words that I might write down.
Her soft embrace cautions my fevered soul.
She, who guides the slow arrow of beauty.
She, who seeps quietly through the heart's cracks.
Her light is not familiar, diurnal;
That regulates circadian rhythm.
It is not the surreal, violet twilight
Beloved of dark, eccentric artists.
Nor is it the neon glow of shadow kingdoms.
Hers is invisible, hallowed light:
That punctuates obscure mysteries;
That traces the contours of visions & dreams.
Her light is solitary, lyrical.
Her fire purifies leaden lexicons.