My muse just up and left me,
didn't even say goodbye.
I sit amid'st my darkness,
devoid of tears to cry.
I had it until recently,
had all my words in play
and now my mind is in a funk,
I don't know what to say.
I'm hopeful it will soon return,
but doubtful that it will.
It thinks of me as all washed up,
a poet, over the hill.
Perhaps, I've reached the apex
of what was my greatest thrill.
That leaves me with this sad, sad choice-
Just get on down that hill.
But, if perchance you spot it
please send it home to me.
I'm sure you would not want it,
it holds no high degree.
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Writing Prompt |
Write a poem, any length, about your muse. Who or what inspires you to write? |
Author Notes
Perhaps, I could borrow yours
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