In shaking verse She writes down the gifts of his divinity. Her trembling meter pays homage To the ruby red circles seared onto her skin. Every stuttering syllable is an offering That she conjures as a devotee, Who has defaulted on the repayment Of words, now long overdue.
He demands epic proportions of gifted wisdom, He asks for legendary lines in his honour. He demands for glory to his name, Written in red.
The patron saint of inspiration Retains his light, And casts gifted shadows over her, As she struggles to her elbows, Drowning in loud, blank papers.
The patron saint of inspiration Waits at the altar of poetry, Watching tributes flow in, Mounted on her fragile skin And faded rhymes.
The patron saint of inspiration Inspects the fabric of the writer’s soul, And passes judgement On the worth of her tears, Ever smiling, ever watching.
The patron saint of inspiration Lures her to the gates of Eden Only to have her trace her words In the eternal dust of the ephemeral Gods that gathers beneath it.
His grace against her fatigue, His divinity against her anguish. His grand schemes against her hope His knowledge against her intrigue.
The patron saint of inspiration Watches her from the walls within.
The patron saint of inspiration Encourages her divine sin.