Muse

I’m having a hard time coming up with something to write tonight, so I guess I’ll post this old poem from 2006 when I was fighting a nasty case of writer’s block. –

Muse

Where are the words?

They’re lost

Bereft

They’ve jumped like lemmings from my mind

Into a chasm of loss

Once upon a time they would come

I didn’t have to think

They came

Leaping from my pen

Ink jewels

In blue and black

As if they weren’t mine at all

But channeled

From some eloquent spirit

Longing to be heard

Where are you now spirit?

Muse?

Whatever name best fits you

You fed me words once

Now I’m starving

Craving the language that once nourished me

 

Were you pushed away?

Sickened by my filthy cynicism?

My reality?

My day by day drudgery?

Stagnation

“There is a rot on us all”

I let the rot grow over me

And my muse withered with it

 

Can I resurrect you?

If I raise my pen once more

Will you return?

Like a soldier fresh from the front

With countless tales to tell

To make me feel vital

To have energy

Crackling with the electricity of creation

Freedom

That sweet remembered taste

It is out there

Waiting for the train to pass

Drop me off, muse

I think this

Is my stop

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16 thoughts on “Muse

  1. Ah, the muse visited you while writing
    guiding and ever lighting
    hidden in the quickened words
    she sang softly like hidden birds πŸ™‚
    ~R

      • oh thank goodness, after I left it I thought it might have been too smug sounding, I had left a poem for a poem style comment on the silver poets site, and it disappeared, (I think a glich ate it) but suddenly thought it might be rude to write your own poetry on someone elses poetry? Anyway, love the poem. I write about my muse all the time~R

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