I miss my muse; she moved away.
Her inspiration winged its way
and left me with my poet’s pen
among these melancholic men,
who wander, weeping, like a child,
with matted beard and hair grown wild
down by the side of sorrow’s stream,
where dead men, walking, dare to dream
of happy times, when muse was queen,
and laughing lines had not grown lean,
where from a gleaming, golden store
a sea of sonnets swam ashore.
My muse no longer breathes on me
with sweetest, sacred symmetry.
Without her tantalising touch
my rhymes no longer count for much.
I miss my muse, more than I thought;
I should have struggled, should have fought.
When feelings froze and wouldn’t flow;
I should have begged her not to go!
I miss my muse; she moved away.
And inspiration’s winged its way.
I’m left alone with poisoned pen
among these melancholic men.
-
Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 10th, 2021 04:22
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 50
- Users favorite of this poem: MendedFences27
Offline)
Comments5
Michael - Another excellent, though sad, poem - I always admire the rhythm and structure of your poems - You have such a gift for rhyme and beat. Thank you for sharing. John
Thanks John, appreciate the feedback.
This is a wonderful poem. I've been a melancholic man from time to time and can only say "not to worry" she will return. The way in which you've expressed the loss should, alone, tell you that she is on her way. I'm saving this pup for when I need inspiration. - Phil A.
Many thanks MF27.
Great flow to this well-worded lament at the miss of the Muse dear Kevin though I would say your expert rhyming proves she must have returned post haste - a very inspirational read my friend.
Thanks Fay. Appreciate your kind comments and feedback
Very good emotive words Kevin.
Andy
Thanks Andy.
really well written, it reads raw yet you've crafted it within that telltale sign of effortless flow, signifying how much work went into it..
a great write dear poet!
Many thanks LB. Editing, always editing...
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