I’m not a poet…
Never got the hang of the rhyme.
But my words they come easy in matters of crime.
It’s a shame, really, that the burning of a fuse
can elicit more emotion in my words than my muse.
There she sits sweetly, only feet away,
inspiring a story of the heroine’s way.
The agent, she whispers in soft, tender breath,
then launches her fury in a fight to the death.
She’s taut, and lean, and fleet of foot,
a most dangerous vixen in our hero’s life put.
But sweet and warm, dedicated to a fault,
with fierce heart conviction, her devotion won’t halt.
The imperfect man with the secrets that hide,
she loves and is patient, a most perfect bride.
Trying and tempting, the muse has her power,
and demonstrates fully as she seizes the hour.
No hesitation in the story line flow,
it spills from my fingers for the world to know.
When hammering the words, this smith got it right,
in finding a muse with a soul this bright.
She lives in my ears, and drowns my mind whole
and wrings the prose from this heart that she stole.
Brilliant agony crashes to the page,
with the snark and the bark, like actors on a stage.
And when the last words are writ, and the book it is closed,
my muse is there smiling at what I’ve composed.
With my heart in her hands, she could be no more sweet,
the reason I bow and worship at her feet.
My muse, my love, my story incarnate,
its was destiny, my love, you’re my muse by fate.
Happy anniversary, my Sweet “Gretel”–the girl of my dreams and the only one who could ever move this gritty spy-writer to poetry.
If you liked this post, then please like this post 🙂 S.L. Shelton is the author of an Amazon Bestselling Political Thriller/Action Espionage Series, (The Scott Wolfe Series). Follow him here on WordPress, on Twitter @SLSheltonAuthor or Facebook. He will love you for it.