WILL YOU BE
Will you be my muse?
And sway away like manikins in this pandemic?
Condense me in all purity,
For I am the dirt and the soil,
The weed pulled from the glorious garden of life.
You are the rose,
The beauty so admirable to sight;
A being almost blinding to the naked eye.
Too delicate to touch.
I feel like a focal,
A long aged promise of pricelessness.
What a shame I have become,
Such a fragile broken thing,
My misery has no expiry date…
So this one’s gunna sting.