Poet and Muse What is it that lies between poet and muse, Is it something anyone would choose, To go beyond the point of obsession, Until it becomes an abstract of possession, To feel the anguish of the art, You need the muse�s thorn in your heart, The thorn that makes the heart bleed, Vampiric arts sacred need, The exquisite agony of inspiration, The poet�s heart knows no hesitation, As it leaps again and again into the abyss, All for the mercy of the muse�s kiss, The muse who fills every moment, Filling them with exquisite torment, Creating the need to create, This is the poets sad fate. Copyright �2002 Sarah Earnshaw |
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