No inspiration today
Not one singular thought that could be caught
and weaved into a lace
of something not entirely reiterating.
The muse refuses to sway
from the laziness the cosmic shift had brought
hiding in the treacherous maze
of the mind that indulges in mitigating.
And what a wordsmith’s to do?
except for wallowing in despair
and drops of alcohol
cursing the fickle abomination
they decided to follow.
The wench hadn’t paid her dues
leaving and living with a flair
and has the gall
to ignore the time of creation
drowning the artist in sorrow.
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Not today for me too
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Isn’t it amazing how we can turn the utter lack of inspiration into a poem? I did the same thing a few months ago. If you’re interested, you can read it here: https://theceaselessreaderwrites.wordpress.com/2018/04/30/owed-to-mundanity/
May your muse be kind in the days to come!
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Thank you ♥ May your muse inspire you infinitely.
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Oh, they do, they do, and thank you!
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