Philosophical

that night when words were whispering 
and the room was quiet and stark 
the thought in fearless beguile 
mounted the empty page 
 
like muses from the ages 
it clasped the trembling hand 
and in a fondled embrace 
penned the painted picture down 
 
courage sprung from syllables 
from impressions old as time 
and in that blessed time span 
many a poem was conceived 
 
i enthuse - my existance 
resembles not an illusion 
nor a sheer waste of ink 
but rather a portrait 
or a spirited work of art