by Dylan Darroch

Created on: May 07, 2011

Classical music playing in the back ground fair,

My eyelids open still nothing there,

Close my eyes again and ponder,

My mind; keep control? Or let it wander?

My Muse I seek her to fill my veins,

Blue blood like ink to wet my pen again.

Does she exist to those fully sane?

If not I shall simply lose control.

Free my mind, and let it roll,

Searching every absent arcane hole

To find my Muse to ease my soul;

To find my Muse to make me whole.

For with out her I can not create,

Lines and rhymes which penetrate,

Ears and eyes, who concentrate

And read or hear words she inflates.

Wide eyed, unhinged, swinging in the night;

Pen left hanging limp and lame

Above a page too clean and plain,

My mind confined, bind in chains.

Bound to sounds of clanging pangs.

I’ll close my eyes and wait some more

My Muse exists of that I’m sure.

Surely the nights too early and my mind too straight

Red eyed pried wide I’ll sit and wait.

For my Muse to check in with me,

And if she’s gone and done with me,

I guess that’s it for you and I,

For with out her my pen shall die,

My words will spit like selfish lies,

Each rhyme a crime, spite and hate…

Self absorbed, dramatic too instigate;

That nasty ego that she so softly subjugates.

But now I’m getting far too mad,

Worked up and wired, just let it pass

I’m sure if I give her time

My Muse again will be mine.

Her beauty tracing every line,

Kissing softly over every rhyme

Allure balanced in line with time

Unselfish, benevolent, and sublime;

She care’s not that the credit is always mine

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