O Where Has My Muse Gone?
all of the poets who have wondered....
When I sit
down to write and nothing comes to mind,
I want to pull my hair out!
There are so many things inside,
Why wonít one pop to the surface of my brain?
It canít be that Iím numb today,
For Iím certainly not.
Maybe Iím feeling too much at once,
My emotions are confused.
Where are you my muse,
When I need you?
If I donít write something on this piece of paper
I will explode!
I am going to count to 10Ö
Maybe that will jumpstart them into action.
Nope, didnít work.
Iíll go to bed.
As sure as I lay down,
Words will tear through my mind like lightening.
No rest for the poet.
No rest for the weary.
Writers block and insomnia
A lethal combination.
"Well...here's another risk...my soul is laid open for review."