The Day my Muse Walked Out

The day my muse walked out was
not unlike any other
we had put beyond our reach,
same father sky warming
his better half mother earth

The deja vu of her stubbornness
assured me of a frozen
pipeline through which
inspiration traveled

The magic factory where
words, themes and titles
were conjured completely
vanished, though I knew
this is where she kept them

No longer did I share
her ears that allowed
me to listen between the
words of a false man's
speech, or lame a creature's sorrows

As unorthodox as my pen
to pad was my rhythm to
reason, feelings made
indescribable she left
my heart unresponsive

Binding my writing arm
behind my back, forcing
me to adapt. Knowing my
own fortitude she maliciously
stole my other rendering me
creatively hopeless

She torments me with
glimpses of her sorcery
only to remind me of
my own pitiful state of
mind without she grace.

I'm her puppet without strings
limp mangled on the canvas
of a balled up piece of notebook
paper, my 33rd attempt at enlightenment

Many times I feared she
would implant her witchcraft
into another souls mind.
Leaving me a emotionally
dead as so many of the rest

She made the tears dry before
they left my eyes,
striping what's left of any
kind of discharge that could
show my clear downheartedness

Now I can only pray
when I'm reincarnated
I'm blessed with another
enlightened muse such as she

The day my muse walked out
was not unlike any other
day, other then it was then
I knew I could not live without her.