When I write  My muse whispers Little white Truths That alone harbor no meaning But stitch a realm Beyond here and now *** What I write does not affect one or the other But silently reflects Truth I hold no knowledge that isn’t already known For learning Is to realize The quest accomplished by another Yet knowing Is to pioneer An intuitive quest of my own *** I have a storyteller soul That silently speaks Through a language of shapes and forms *** My thoughts and feelings Bear no resemblance to my outward self But resonate my one self *** An ethereal being that changes form From the slightest cosmic flux