Poetic lighitning

My muse, a whisp of smoke, hear it then gone, inspiration spoke in a yawn

Glowing ember falls to the ground a spark to remember a dying sound

Echoes ring from the dark, an angel sings, only a smudge left as its mark

Scrapings of soot makes my ink, pen to paper put, memory gone in a wink

Reviews

[.]

This poem is so realistic and true that I've never been able to write it before, nor have I read it in anyone else. I think the most important thing is to remember that we are the ones who give meaning to the muses, and to know that the inspiration is actually within us. When I read the last part, I said, wow, because every time I write about something, it feels like I'm erasing memories with a pen. Loved your words as always

[Soren]

You are very kind and your most generous review is very encouraging. I thank you for your words of support.