I sit staring into that pale white sheen
wanting letters to just crawl together,
anything but wait for the muse to sing
while sitting with my foot to the desk
fettered.
Why is it that she plays so hard to get?
Does she profit by it some way I don’t?
Worst when she teases ideas I’ll forget,
but she does not list’ and ‘easy-be’ she won’t.
And maybe that there is why I like her,
because she pushes and challenges me
to the brink of my strength and then further
than I thought once I had the courage to be.
But
oh muse, do you really hate me so
you
must torture me until your path I go?
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