For the Glory of My Muse

Out of hope, and out of time, this life of mine it’s empty, it’s bleak but I’ll find my way

My way to that glory at the mountain, that light found at morning’s peak

I’ll stop my mourning, I’ll stop my sorrow, I’m sorry I’m not sorry but it’s done now it’s over

I can’t do it anymore this mad dash for inspiration has left me empty, my muse is weary

The words I write do get so bleary, she’s tired of my dreary ways and she’s so thin

Her skin is wrinkled and she’s wasted away, she’s no longer young like she was that day

That day I decided that my path was right this path I write and I never knew it was wrong

How I mistreated, how I would write something only for it be trashed, deleted

I spurned my muse, and second guessed my nature, and now I’m in that shadowed valley

With fear looming over me, I take another step, upon those stairs leading to the peak

Outside of this darkness this mourning bleakness, wearied and depressed my muse is mute

But I know what to do, I know how to fix it, turn my back on the shadow and walk to the light once more.

I’ll find what I need to make my muse laugh and smile, and be like what we had before when she whispered those stories of old forgotten years into my head, my sleeping ear

The trip won’t be easy, she’s telling me not to go not to risk my gift that gift that I spurned by trying to this thing, this thing outside my nature

But you see I must, this mourning is tiring and sorrows are getting droll I see my muse getting old and we haven’t lived even a half-life as of yet this isn’t a choice but a task

So, out of hope and out of time I’ll find a way to carry this empty life of mine to that glory on the mountain, that light found at the top of morning’s peak

Perhaps once that light baths over us once again, once again to me my muse will speak, that’s all I want, all I need, to hear my muse again, to hear her speak

 

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