Uninspired muse

My muse of ancient lore,
Stood staring out from my door,
You watch the ice cold rain pour
While I look at you, seeking more.

Yet you don't seem interested,
For some reason, a little frustrated.
Unfortunate for my curiosity isn't sated,
And my work is yet to be completed.

With your long silence, here I cease.
I am stuck on this literary precipice.
I am desperate for the golden keys
To unlock this new masterpiece.

My fingers feel the quill is heavy,
As my mind grows tired and weary.
My dear friend, will you not tell me
The rest of our glorious story?

You stare at me oh so quietly.
I've never seen you this gloomy.
"My sweet muse, how can this be?
Why do you not talk to me?"

"I can't", you say with a sigh
"Everything we do and say is a lie
New fiction created with every try
Don't you see? Reality will die."

Rising from my desk, I walk toward you
And grasp your hands anew.
Drenched in twilight's blue,
My dear muse has not a clue.

"O my soul, these lies set us free
For only through them can we see
The lessons of Life with clarity
Through our art, we teach humanity."