Poetry by: Texena


My Muse


I must have had a muse, once.
One who prompted me to write.
One who spoke into my ear
And bid me have no fear
But to word paint.

Those were free and easy days
Times when words and rhymes
Came so quickly and so well.
I had these stories I had to tell
With my word paint.

As I grew older
There was more pain inside
Much inner suffering I had to hide.
I could not let the torment show
Stoics don’t do that, you know.

So poetry was put away
Like an old toy from yesterday.
It was time to just get by
And live a life of quiet lie
And My Muse was left to cry.


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