Gone Tomorrow, Here Today

Struggling here to explain the muse
as if it's something that I choose;
like the recipes in a book;
pick one out and begin to cook.

Its not like that in any way,
when the writing muse holds its sway.
Gone tomorrow, but here today;
the muse tolerates no delay.

Pick up the pen, begin to write
or it will quickly fade from sight.
On occasion, I find a hint,
and then with me, its time is spent.

In a flicker, the flame is gone.
I am alone to carry on
trying with effort to construe
the intent of the fickle muse.

At times, with an impish grin,
the muse sends me around the bend.
When I have finally arrived,
I see a sign, “Entrance Denied.”

As you might see, its not quite clear
if my writing is what I hear
in the recesses of my mind
or from some other place or time.

All I know is I want to write
as if my soul has taken flight
and landed on a golden gate
that opens into __________

The muse has left me hanging here;
its message is no longer clear.
It seems today I won’t behold
what lies beyond that gate of gold.

Copyright  ©  November 8, 2008 by Karen M. Crump