Surrounded by books, seated at a mahogany desk - I feel a comforting sense of home, of belonging - as if this room was created just for me.

My golden pen seems to have a mind of it's own as it glides effortlessly across the paper. I see the page being filled with words, I wonder where these words have come from, usually I have great difficulty knowing where to begin, how to start - but now, here in this room the words just seem to flow.

At last! I have found my secret, sacred space. My fortress, my own private sanctuary - yet I do not feel alone, for a Muse is with me, guiding my hand. I cannot see Muses but I know when I am in their presence. Sometimes, when I'm trying to sleep, a Muse will fill my mind with whispers, enticing me to rise to write them down. Othertimes, I'll be in the twilight zone, peaceful, secure, blissfully tranquil only to be rudely prodded into awakening - as a Muse proclaims urgent, noisy words that must be dictated.

So here I sit with a Muse by my side, interjecting my subconcious mind with reminders not to be overlooked, insights that need to be shared. In this, my sacred space, enlightenment and inspiration combine to prove a relationship that writers and poets have written about since the dawning of time. A magical experience given only to those who are irrestibly drawn to write. Could this be why it is called a gift?

Midnight Muse

Why is it so, after a long busy day,
I retire only to find,
Sleep will not come easily?
There is still so much to do and say,
My midnight Muse is nudging me,
Playing in my mind.

Why in these quiet hours 'til dawn,
While others are sleeping peacefully,
Do ideas and words fill my mind?
Bugging me to write them down!
My midnight Muse keeps prodding me,
So sleep cannot be found.

Why, then at nearly 3:00 a.m.
Words on paper, ideas noted,
Action planned, priorities sorted,
A few hours left 'til day,
My midnight Muse - now obeyed,
Slips off to wonderland, from when it came?

Why, cannot all this happen,
During daylight hours?
Is it because I'm a night owl?
So then, why do I love birdsongs at dawn?
No, it's just because,
My midnight Muse presses me on,
On toward my dream.

(c)T.Seed. 2002.