Purpose of a Poem

A few of my poems never saw the 'muse', thus my poem came to be...

How many poems know purpose?
How many find the face of the muse
Speaks softly to her in private
Holds her heart at attention…
For so long as she wishes

To my sweet delight
Or my bitter disappointment

Poems are pieces of heart,
Gently cut out, at no great loss
Slightly tainted by lack of vocabulary
Slightly tainted by a world's image of love

Poems are short stories
Written in my heart, only for her
Of feelings, not thoughts
Of heart, not mind

Bystanders will look, read, grin
Examine the grammar of a heart
But if she does not see this...and blink
What’s the point of paper and ink?