The Muse Is Gone

The muse is gone, she left in the night,
Taking my creativity with her.
Packing up my words, and the color of my thots,
Then stealing away without a sound,
Or even a note.

I sit anxiously waiting for her return,
Staring at the blank page in front of me.
Pen in hand I doodle my name on the paper,
Filling the page with little swirls and flowers,
and boxes and faces.

But the muse is gone.

by Cathy Jackson

Comments (1)

LONG LIVE THE MUSE HE WILL RETURN WITH A VENGENCE YOU WILL WRITE AGAIN ABOUT FLOWERS DAYBREAKS AND GREAT LAKES BUT SMILE YOU HAVE EIGHT POETRY BLOB