Some nights she beacons me to write

as the muse tugs upon thy heart strings

when words come, the mind takes flight

soaring high above as if it had wings.

Then there are days she isn't around

I feel like a tree surrounded by drought.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

It's hard not to walk around with a frown

unbearable to take what life dishes out.

Then inspiration returns like a rising sun

blanketing the world with warmth and love

much work is done as the day is clearly won

it can make you feel invincible, sort of.

Writing comes and goes, like waves on a shore

yet despite the torture, I always desire more.