Missing my muse

So here it is, over a month since I last saw you. Being as our affair lasted a mere six weeks (I say mere, but the truth is it was a lifetime for me) one would expect that I would be over it, beyond, have moved on with my life. That turns out not to be the case. You touched my heart, my soul. It isn't that life has no meaning now, it's just that the meaning has changed in a sad and vacant way. I wish I knew how to mend the wound in your heart. I tried to bandage it with love and reassurance, but I guess I just had bad timing. I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could see your smile - it lit up my life and made my heart leap each time I saw it. I hope you can get your head sorted out about life and love and divorce and motherhood and grandmotherhood and work and everything else, and then I hope you'll realize how good we were together and how good we could be together again. Come back to me, my sweet muse, come back to me.

Long time no blog

So here I am, back. I'm nursing a broken heart. I had the most wonderful 6 week love affair with a woman perfect for me in so many ways it was astounding. She realized that she was unprepared for a relationship right now, and I am left wounded. I thought I was beyond the tears, but I'm not.

Here is my latest poem:

Into the setting sun

Much has been made over the notion
that life is some sort of journey,
a trek through joy, adversity, ecstasy, and grief.

Some march with determination, others
roam and wander aimlessly, but I
choose to stand still and let life
come to me.

For those who journey, the trip always heads west.
Into the setting sun they travel, ever growing nearer
the end of day.

Yet I stand alone, and face the dawn.
I will not be cowed by life.
I will not hide from love.
I embrace each moment, as I long for the embrace
of my muse.

Life swirls and spins around me,
there is too much to grasp all at once,
life must be sampled, a bit at a time.

Socrates had it wrong.
Do not stop to examine your life.
Live, breathe, cry, laugh, love.
Mostly love.

It is, finally, the loveless life
that is not worth living.
The sun will set in its own time.
I will not step closer to it.