This Muse

To the muse who
suffers, with her
bleeding lips--
too many kisses
and words unspoken
by her,
her,
Her from the heavens
upon this hard ground
where man walks
with his head always
searching,
pointed down.
Give to her one thing
she gives to you:
a promise, a tissue
to help dry the tears
of beauty entering a room
and the aftermath,
when beauty disappears.

© Coleen T. Houlihan