The muses finally gave up on me,
Although, I didn't give up on them,
I kept pouring little pieces of my heart onto the paper ,
And I kept on writing like a madwoman,
Until there was no trace of them in my heart.
The muses have long since forgotten me,
They will never read all that I've written about them,
In a way, I've forgotten about them too,
My pen will never write their name again, my heart shall never feel heavy at their mention again.
The seasons changed, and so have my muses,
My muse is no longer merely just a person,
Now I write about nature, moon , and the ocean,
Now I write about memories, guilt, and the heaviness of it all.
I still write about people I adore,
It's just that the people have changed,
As they always do,
Through my muses and my poetry, this world I escape.
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Author:
Akshadha Joshi (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 3rd, 2026 05:18
- Comment from author about the poem: Not sure how I feel about this one, but nonetheless, enjoy 🙃
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship
Offline)
Comments2
Lovely written. Your poem captures the bittersweet nature of this change, illustrating how the poet continues to write while acknowledging the loss of previous sources of inspiration.
Emptying ones dregs cleans the vessel and frees it for new use. A wonderful write of finding a new muse
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