The Muse

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I love to hate her but I love to love her more
The capricious siren cracks the whip, and
Enslaved I follow

She loves to bestow, at the most inopportune moments
The music of an idea, the rhythm of a phrase
And watch me implode

My world shrinks to the point of the keyboard
My eyes see only the landscape she’s woven
My fingers race

To capture her benevolence in pitiful words
Gasping, straining to cage them in print, 
Forever and ever

Just as I lose myself in the chaos of her gift
She leaves and I am bereft, thankful, pining
For her glorious touch

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