by super sleuth
A writer's lament over losing her inspiration.
The Lost Muse
I lie in bed before the dawn
listening to the tears of God
that pelt my roof as if to mourn
the loss I feel, and so I nod.
I pray that someday soon He'll grant
my wish to write down what I feel,
in a language filled with heart to plant
a seed of life with which to heal.
I've lost now what I've held so dear
imaginative words that used to flow,
so freely from my mind so clear
that falter now and cease to grow.
My muse was special; that I see
now that I've lost her from my mind.
An apprentice muse I wish from Thee
to assist with words I seek to find.
I hope this muse will be so grand
to inspire words to fill the void
left behind as now I stand
useless as a mindless droid.
A parchment filled with heart so bold
told with feeling and words of praise,
of a sunrise tucked within the fold
its center lighting up the days.
I need to feel the warmth that comes
from the satisfaction I have earned,
knowing that I'm not all thumbs
by the number of pages that I've turned.