Poetry

Musings (#695)

Some question if the Muse is real,
Well- here’s the deal.
The mistress of inspiration’s spell?
She’s the personification of the creative well,
We credit her for our success,
In her name we express,
We blame her when we fail,
Her name we curse when ideas go stale,
A woman of flesh and bone?
The epitome of the unknown?
The spinning of a fairy tale?
Our subconscious behind a veil?
A simple flimflam and a crock?
Ah, the antithesis of writer’s block,
For she is found inside us all,
Forever to feed us and enthrall.

Any Thoughts?

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