Inspiration. What an odd thing it is. I’ve always enjoyed the Greek concept of the muses; my muse is surely a strange creature.
I wrote a poem about my muse ten or so years ago. I believe I’m going to pause this post and dig it out of my long-dead devART account (my name is nowhere on the account sooooo good luck finding me there haha).
After a bit of thought, I decided to update the poem, I have progressed to a point somewhat further along my path to mastering my craft and I seriously couldn’t let myself post this without tweaking the punctuation at least a little (it should also be noted here that I don’t write much poetry anymore and also that the craft of writing isn’t one that any writer ever truly masters).
my muse…
she is a strange thing;
forever stalking me.
so quietly, surely silently-
i remember that i am a dreamer,
when her visions find me:
hauntingly,
breaking me,
to reform me in her purpose…
she gives herself to me,
(joining in me,
completing me,
catalyzing me.)
like a whirlwind in my rain.
shaken from my reverie,
so luridly;
startled by the sheer intensity,
designing feverishly,
impossibly…
and suddenly;
she is gone and i am hollow.
my muse…
always she leaves me hungry.
I tend to write free form verse, I dislike being hindered by such things as iambic pentameter or being confined by the forms that rhyming couplets and sonnets require.
I do enjoy haiku though.
❤
curro ergo sum 