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my muse is hard to capture
though I do try each day
just goes so fast
I turn around
it’s past me in a blur
leaving little inspiration
each day becomes each night
here I sit in the wee hours
while the sane sleep
steeped in contradiction
thoughts vague
filled with doubt
words tossed about the unyielding page
I start then stop
I write then not
caught mercilessly unclear
in terminal hesitation
in quiet rage
fickle muse – please…
a spark to light this dark
that grips me like a cage
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rob kistner © 2010
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