Muse

When I was doing my PhD research in mathematics, I did a visualisation as I fell asleep one night where I imagined wandering through a forest and finding a little hut in which there lived a wise old man. And in the dream, the wise old man gave me the answer to a problem I was working on. When I awoke, the answer was still there and when I checked it, it exceeded my wildest expectations and became a key theorem in my field...still I think that rather than a wise old man, I would prefer the muse of my poem...


Muse

slinking in softly
while he sleeps
she bends over him,
whispers in his ear

he stirs, she waits
expectantly, he stirs
but hugs his pillow
settles back

she hesitates
then stoops again
to whisper, hesitates
again and muses

other magic looms
await her cool illumination
other looms await to
weave her dreams

on this cold winter’s night
she softly strokes his hair
and leaves him peaceful
leaves him unaware

he snuggles deeper
snuggles in the warmth
to dreamless sleep till day,
to face again a page of snow,
the moment lost
but he will never know