The Midnight Muse

This piece explores the intense, almost haunting relationship between a writer and the late-night creative spark that refuses to let them sleep. This is called My Midnight Muse.

The Midnight Muse

© Veronika Sophia Robinson

She comes in the silent and velvety dark,
Slipping in softly to kindle the spark,
Weaving her words where the shadows grow deep,
A temptress of night while the world is asleep.
She penetrates down to the soul of the page,
A midnight companion, a ghost on the stage.

“Come now,” she whispers, “I need you awake,
The words are all waiting, they’re yours for the take.
I know that you listen, I know that you dare
To capture the syllables hanging in air.”

This hour is ours, a nocturnal throne,
With a breeze through the window as cool as a stone,
It tingles the skin as it sweeps through the room,
Inviting the poetry out of the gloom.
An hour in her presence expands and takes flight,
A moment of magic that lasts through the night.

Now drawn to the lamp and hungry for light,
A flapping of wings breaks the peace of the night;
The creatures of darkness are moving with grace,
Reminding the soul we must all find our place.
For each has a rhythm, a voice, and a spark,
And each has a unique way of leaving a mark.

“Come to me, come to me, deep in the dark,
And leave on the paper your permanent mark.
Together we’ll write from the scar, not the fight,
In language and longing and literary light.
So stay by my side as the phantom words glide,
And swim deep into this literary tide.“

Then chased from my bed by the glare of the dawn,
The midnight companion is suddenly gone.
The heat of the morning Sun strikes the first line,
The muse has departed, and the writing is mine.