Poet's museA Poem by Shweta
Then who is she, if not for the muse?
Who is she, if not for the words? It was there, where she was born, caged and kept. Captivating, for the others to read and live. It was there from where she entered the realms of unimaginable and fantasy into the minds of the reader, who worshipped her even if 'twas for a moment's sake the peace that she rendered in her belly who found rest and revived. She led them into nothingness, and to the stars where they lived, thrived and perished; to be born again. She knew, that was why she came in the minds of the poet to thrust life into the words that came together, so the reader can escape into living though for a moment when he is so deprived from it. She was the muse of the poet, the pulse of the readers.. Where she had to perish and be the infinite where she lives in the reader who held her in his chest to live with him until he dies to become one with her among the stars that she so willingly bestowed on him while he lived. © 2023 ShwetaReviews
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6 Reviews Added on September 11, 2023 Last Updated on September 11, 2023 Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
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