Time? Muse?

Is this the time to dance? To throw my legs to this beat?
Swirl, turn and call the spirits to worship?
Or do I pause to catch your falling smile, the one you withhold
Like a rare star burning too bright to grasp, to hold.

Is this the time to cry? To let grief wash over me?
I have waited to the moment of breaking but it will not come.
The wells are dry and I have no salt for you.
No blood.

Is this the time to write? to fill the blank pages
To pour a weary soul into words, rhymes, yearning and nothings?
My finger tips are swollen from stories
But I fear, it won’t come.

Is this the time to sit and stare? To watch the cloud float?
To count every window that glows with my mistakes
To mourn the friends that left and dreams that died?
I am staring but my eyes hurt.
Time? muse?
Whatever you name. Is this the time?

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