Poet in Recluse

I relinquish my pen before the storm
of her tears falling upon my bare arm
her gentle whispering breathed in my ear
Muse of mine, adieu to your wit and charm

With piqued reasons I have come to deduce
It's time to say fond farewell to my muse
She should seek a new poet and lay claim
for my words have grown utterly abstruse

Spare me sullen eyes, from cries in refrain
I shall not weep in sadness nor disdain
Bitterness does not become a recluse
My poet's heart weakens, I dare not feign

Time's drawn the shades in darkness of night
No candle flame shall glimmer enough light
in which I may be tempted before morn
to doubt seclusion and attempt to write

Cloistered without pen, I shall ever be
From thinking in rhyme I shall be set free
Poems half written on bits of scrap paper
I shall lock away and then toss the key

My hand has retired, this last poem now penned
No more idyll thoughts of mind will transcend
Bereft of rhymes and abandoned of verse
This poet knows her time has reached an end

Ink no longer flows through my tunneled veins
Expressed emotions in poetry wanes
And when interred, on my stone I shall read,
"Reclusive poet" over my remains

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Poem witten by: Lin Lane
Images: www.pixabay.com