The Muse

Will I progress with the pen that writes?

Or will I simply stay here

Yearning to share ideas with words that inflict feelings on others

I know that there is a greater presence inside of me

But learning to release it in verse proves to be a challenge

I hope that I am growing, expanding my vocabulary with ingenuity

In my ignorance I do not take insights from examples

Instead I pass over my work and stroke my ego

Fantasizing of my fame when they finally see my genius

When will I let go of my need to impress, and simply express?

Some nights it comes freely to me without pain

But many others I am forcing the muse to expose herself

I poke and prod her into submission

And create faulty paragraphs of sludge that is unworthy

The blockage in my head is infuriating

So I push and I push until the page is filled with static

An unregulated mixture of keystrokes that amounts to nothing

Yet there is worth in it’s defectiveness

Because after the mud is forced out of my hands

I come to a place finally where my thoughts come freely

And a rush of satisfaction passes over me as the muse finally awakens


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