Oft you evoke in my in-most being
Hollowed indictments I cannot ignore
Passionate pleading; rushing receding
Oceans of wonder and pondering roar
Desire dances in sanguine circles
Duty remands with a stiff, solemn grip
Wanderlust whispers; temptation trickles
I need a pen between my fingertips
Smooth satisfaction probes inspiration
Pulses quicken with anticipation
Muse, oh languid and luring impression
Teasing and taunting the fringe of my thought
Do you seek kinship or mournful confession?
I feel you but to touch you, I can not
Are you the shadow that ruffles the willow?
Are you the Shepherd of star-spangled deep?
Or do you burrow beneath my pillow
Murmuring to me as I fall asleep
You are a rebel tormenter of men
Provoking the poet without a pen
Oft you evoke intangible beauty
Caught in the lilt and the bend of the breeze
Oft, in the middle of modest duty
You kiss the moment with sweet memories
I cannot hate you, therefore I must love you
Feed on the hunger of what you withhold
Darling, I am so empty without you
Tease me; torment me until I am old
Poet, poor poet; are you blessed or cursed?
Caught in the vortex of life’s best or worst?
© Janet Martin
Written for Poetry Jam; love-hate relationship