Muse

In the pangs of labour
there is hope
hope of a new life in the newborn
even as in struggle you devote
time and thoughts in search of the right words
and ways, to tell and show
the huddles and muddle in your mind
you hold on
to that glint you’ve seen afore
’cause you know it holds more,
and more will come just as it has before

When the words seem to dry up
and you are left gawking at a blank page
and the only thing echoing beneath your pate
is ‘no thing’, but you remember
a flicker,
that has led you thus far
a flicker from the Muse

And though you can’t see it now
And the darkness seems so thick
with the winds howling so loud
the faint cry of hope you can’t pick

And though you pray to the Muse
to guide you and bestow
the inspiration to solve a mystery
and the strength to look beyond the obvious

And though your words seem too shallow
you doubt from the goddess’ they could have flowed
and no one would ever in them think to dive
and so rigid the lines, they daresay
you are but another cliché

The universe will reply
’cause you are in sync with her
as every artist is, before you and after
For you have tapped into the realm of brilliance,
a brilliance so much you swirl to find focus.

Then will Muse hold and plant your feet
so your pen may once more find the words
And your brush, the right angle
to complete a masterpiece.