Perchance to Write

The poet rested his head atop

the empty page surrounded

by shards of words

The petals of his mind

folded in sleep

Voices of long dead

muses whispered in his

unhearing ear

Morpheus and the Sandman

danced across the void

of his consciousness while

the music of sages played on

When the quietus of night

fell upon him he rose

up to find profound scribbles

had appeared where blankness

had prevailed

Whose words they were

he did not know