Muse

I call upon the Muse of my heart,
Who knows my every waking and sleeping move,
Knows the thoughts of my head and guides my hand even as I write.

I call upon the Muse of my strength,
Who brings my through each day,
Brings me to my knees and picks me up to stand on my own two feet.

I call upon the Muse of my mother,
Who in her created me,
In her raised me and showed me the way of the right and good.

I pray to the God of creation,
Who is with us daily
Is with us in the good, and the bad, and the ugly, always and forever.

Song of Myself, the Ryan Version

My dreams are changing.
I once dreamed of literature, and travel.
Writing as I flew from place to place.
By myself, no one else to worry about.
Now I yearn for a special person.
That special person, the one who keeps me grounded and alive.
The one that encourages the crazy ideas of my mond, jumping into them with me.
Days have flight have turned to foot, traveling by land from place to place.
Only my pack to pull from and the kindness of foriegn stangers to aid me.
Paris, Rome, London, Dublin - all call my name, urging me on to new dimensions, new heights.
Literature, now gone, have given way to the mind.
But the writing continues, my pen continues.
Adding to the verse, the song of my life, the some of no tune.
Of mismatched words that make no sense except unto me.
Never the same, always changing the words, the dreams, even myself.
But never the person with me.