by Jessica Louise Hoffart

He walks into the room

time stands               chaotic

blood rushes    to          places

I didn’t know it could



I call him

he smiles

a book is written


a poem appears

He sees through me

the words written

on my heart

pulls them through

fingers to paper

Too      much  sometimes

I run from the burn

he leaves

within me

Not a muse

for he is

the words

the paper

the Pen


I put down to live

Too much inspiration

I may be left

mind barren


for new words


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s