Muses by Caroline Tiss

Muses

Every minstrel's muse is a fleeting trick of the light,

Infatuation is to sacrifice your wild rose to the oceans,

Dark and deep,

My greatest fault is my love, the lofty kind,

Rose colored glasses have clouded my eyes,

I disregard the ugly and obscene for sugar coated lies.

This night is the hurting kind of silence.

I long for safety while in the pit.

The only safety is within me.

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