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.
