Muse at my Side

So, here I sit
  prepared to bear witness to that
  which lies hidden
  and strives to be born.

Oh thou muse,
  such a temptress you are,
  pushing forever for my fingers
  to alight upon the key pad,
  sprinkling words through my mind
  as I stand naked in the shower
  and then allowing them to wash down the drain
  of this menopausal mind;
  now just a feeling,
  and a sense of
  something important
  left unsaid.

I have felt you at my side these past weeks.
  I have sensed your request turn to a demand.
  I have resisted, felt fear, given in and written
  and then played the cycle through again.

Why must I feel these painful emotions
  when you want me to write?
Why must I descend into this place
  so apart from 'reality'
  that I can not focus on even the simplest of
  mundane tasks?

Now, I verge on a commitment to
  write full time for the next weeks.

What does that mean, really?

If I agree to give in to you,
  if I dare to just sit
   and allow you to
   speak through me,
  if I risk my soul and person
   to the vagaries that are you,
   what shall become of me?

Of course, nothing is to be lost
  for there has, as yet, been nothing given.

Music to drown the voices,
  eyes turned inward,
  opening,
  frightened,
  but opening.

Finding you in my soul,
   now dancing lightly across the hard wood floors
   of my past, and
   the dark, quiet, peaceful space fronting my alter.

feel, feel, feel
  write,
  that is all that is asked.

Write.