Cannot write more

I cannot write any more.

I thought I told you this before,
But yes, I write for you.

I write of you,
of your thousand lovable gestures,
of your million quirks and faults,
of your innumerable thoughts and dreams.

They blamed me for writing only of love,
of an emotion well abused;
But they did not know it was inspired by you.

If they did,
they might have worshipped you, my muse.

And now,
You have gone away from my life
to find a way of your own;
Be a muse to someone else,
in some other way -
I know not what.

I thought I could find another muse,
and write on.

They came and went,
but failed to inspire,
to arouse me to a climax of poetry
that you so easily managed.

I still stare at your age-worn photograph
and try to write.
But,
I cannot write any more.