Things I miss most
are some of the most
beautiful of all.
The laughter of children playing,
seeing a puppy/kitten chasing it's tail,
the supple spine of a beautiful woman,
standing up for what I believe in,
adhering to the principles I hold dear to me.
those I have lost,
especially you grampa.
Simple, yet so dear to me
I hate to be with without them.
If writing is my salvation,
are these things my inspiration?
If suddenly, the journey to be better
is here, will I loose my muse?
Will I loose my will to write,
my will to share?
I hope to hold these things forever,
because they are so dear.
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Ah, the potential to lose a muse is disconcerting. I have lost her before. She still seems to take too many breaks. I wonder if it is possible to conjure up a muse out of thin air. Maybe it is the time pieces you wrote about in another poem that will take the place of an old muse.
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