"Sing, O Muse..."

Is my muse a pagan beauty,
A Helen come to launch a thousand
Ships against my sorry self?
A heavenly arch come down
To sing in words i learned in Youth
Of things I'd found and lost
Or left behind?
Or only just a whirlwind -- a mind
Divided, resorting, stirring up
What had been left to lie?
Or maybe no muse at all.
Maybe no song.
Maybe words on words
On paper on thoughts
Fragmented dreams
That never mean a thing.

On St. Johns on the South Hill

How the clouds can drift from place to place
Before the tower, behind the spire and now beyond
And yet the others lie like barges there
Heavy, down-cast and woe begone...?

Whats this? Have they begun to shift?
No, its but a fleeting sail gone whizzing by
Like children's hopes and dreams and play
To catch the wind or race the birds on high.

And now they're gone, passed on for greater things;
But still that tower there and heady fog
To crowd my thoughts and keep me from my dreams?
....

*and then i had class... so much for inspiration :)*

maybe: and bring me back to dark and dreary bog ???? lol