That muse of mine has been silent for a time
But no more
Chained to me, chained to this place I see
She’ll talk for sure
She’ll inspire me
Be it with blood, or glory to come
I’ll have a story from her lips
Something new, nothing old
Or else it’s time to leave her, my old muse
There in that darkness, that bitter cold
If that’s the case I’ll find something new
A muse that will speak, and speak to be heard
Not this weak willed thing that stutters and whispers
Incomplete tales and stories that could never be told
The Lantern Lit Corner 