
Muses
(This was a fun one dealing with times when you can’t get your imagination running correctly.)
Our spirit of inspiration
Gentle pixie on our shoulder
With her ink-stained wings
And body cloaked in paint
Flitting on the edge of thought
Heard just enough to guide our dreams
Her power is at our cores
Dwelling in our mind and heart
She balances upon a scale
Held aloft by our self-worth
Easily tipped to madness
And swallowed by despair
She is a fragile creature
That can break at any moment
Leaving us a twitching husk
Adrift in harsh reality
With no wings to help us soar
No voice to call us home
She cannot die for good
Unless we will it to be so
We can fight to bring her back
Absorb the pain that made her fall
Using it to forge new strength
And revive our fragile muse




A great description of a muse, Charles
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Thanks.
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The imagery is very lovely. “With her ink-stained wings
And body cloaked in paint
Flitting on the edge of thought
Heard just enough to guide our dreams”
“With no wings to help us soar”
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Thanks. ๐
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I always thought of my muse as something like a raven that will come and peck me if I sit idle for too long. I agree with L. though. Your imagery here is lovely.
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Thanks. I think mine is twitching figure that is slowly rocking in a dark corner.
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I am not really into poetry, but I enjoyed this one. It has some great imagery.
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Thanks. ๐
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