My Muse

(photo credit: JT)

The great illusion a mind will build, 

  Is that life is what you make it. 

Walking forward in the straightest of lines,

  Thinking your plans are the peak of wit. 

In one trip 'round the sun you see

  A few carefully placed pieces start to fall

The life dream you built, brick by brick, 

  A crumbling ivy covered wall. 

 A promenade, a waltz, a whimsical serenade, 

  Was that season of life destined to become. 

 Instead it played a symphony of light;

   A renewed soul, alive, sprang from. 

A few meaningless phrases you'll read

  From the pages of the past. 

That built the great sequels of a story;

  Featuring the kind of hope that lasts. 

A single flower planted in the garden,

 A simple joy to all beholden;

Whose seeds plant colors of tomorrow,

 An awe-inspired silence that's golden.

A pencil sketch of a single nest

 Semblance of a dream at its beginning;

Whispers the future of the painted sky,

 And the sounds of a thousand wings. 

So is that first jotted page,

 Planning the foundations of the life you'll live

The mental notebook that evolves with time;

 The old versions of you, you must forgive.

For we don't truly say goodbye to her;

 But build upon her trust. 

We stitch her dreams together,

 Pulling the calico and ginghams from dust.

Beautiful new threads of time, 

 To create this tapestry, form this art;

Shedding a silent tear for what she lost,

 The dampening enhances the work of heart. 

But with pen, with needle, with paint, with chord,

 She's struggled straightened, stumbled, and strived.

Each quiet victory is her silent strength. 

 It's part of what makes her feel alive.

She silences all voices now, except, 

 For the loving and strengthening few.

The hopeful handful of her circle,

 She hand-picked, accepted, because they're true.

The tenderness and trust of childhood's dreams

 Remains tucked gently between who she is and used to be.

Kept between the pages of the Book of Life;

 And who, earthside, God wants her to be. 

She embraces every "now" once "never",

 A once resounding "no" an emphatic "yes". 

As God paints, stitches, plays, and pens;

 With the desire to give more, not less. 

She'll never stop her rhyming words,

 God's gift she carries from the past. 

For it's how she records a life well-lived,

 Each dream and a love that lasts. 

M. G. -