A Moth’s Honor to its Muse

The continual flame that you bear

is the beacon that guide me through

the beauty and the ugly of situating my deepest

sentiments and notions on a piece of white paper.

For that, I shall express my deepest gratitude.

And if I had a means of transportation of my own

I would travel at any distance

and compensate you with a bouquet of lilies

as it is stationed as a reflection of you who are.

A graceful writer, an exceptional educator,

and a colorful canvas

keen to the eyes of the blind.

I am as sure as the stars that shines

that you are the gentle things in life,

like a warm embrace from my one true love,

or coffee warming the insides of a cold body,

bubbles wading atop warm water,

even waves tickling at my feet as I roam the shore.

And if it was unknown to you before

you now know that to me

you are an aspiring woman

with music in your laugh,

my monumental muse

with softness lounging in your eyes.

You are my righteous ear

who has offered nothing

but unwavering support.

The stars will be scarce of light

before any memory of you and I

surrender to forgetfulness.

You are the epitome of a poem:

skillfully composed,

occasionally cherished,

and deficit in rightful recognition.

You are the poem I desire to write,

worthy of accolades and honor.

You are the poem that would deem me a poet.