I find myself now with limitless time to create my molded words,time in which to create my new worlds and reliquish my fantasies unto the sleeping/dreaming masses and a fountain of words in which to use and I find that beneath my bending tree of life; my beloved Muse lays sleeping a breathless sleep.
Surely she does not die, for my youth still dances in a doubtless fire, and I nightly surrender my soul to my Lady's bidding.
My only true pounderance that draws clear is that she is hibernating for some great project; though she's left me in absence beneath the boiling sun and drenching rains. Every night Artimes joins me in dream, and every dawn I raise to the world; but still...the silence has become a frightening thing again, and I fear I dance alone.
Please wake again soon, my beloved Spirit. I ache for my abilities once again.