Notes from a Time Traveller by Elke Stevens

Like hope hanging on a flimsy thread I’m balancing between illusion and realty.

For my muse is gone, my heart is empty.
But in your arms my dreams still sleep.

My muse, something to hold on to in the slumber of a daydream where my heart is in the cradle of your love.

Not pulling me closer, fighting the clouds of a daydream where nothing serious ever happens.

I’m looking for my fearless heart of the brave in the shadow of daydreams, slowly finding the muse in myself.

For my heart is empty, my heart is free.

02/2019

©Elke T.B. Stevens.