The muse's dirge

A dark room door, closed and bolted

Cobwebs and dust I've tasted before

Remnants of verse that I've toted

Poems pour through cracks in the floor

Chest of folded rhyme all needing wash

Used and soiled unable to be worn

Wrinkled, stained all the weight of age did squash

Verses left ragged and torn

Beating heart of meter calmed

Poems last unction the cost

Words in shrouds verse embalmed

Dark requiem for a muse lost

Reviews

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

sometimes i wonder why it is i write. for me, it was always an impulse something that came naturally and i couldn't imagine not doing it. after a while, i lost interest, enthusiasm vanished. but then i started writing something that i wanted someone else to read. there was a particular person who was willing to read my work. suddenly, i felt new wind and not only could i put more effort into it, the quality of my writing went up. that someone else is there who can appreciate your work can really turn things around.
'A dark room door, closed and bolted' yes, i have been in that room before. 'Poems pour through cracks in the floor' and as did my soul. so now i am grateful for my readers, here and IRL, for without them i i know could not continue.

[Soren]

Ern your words refuel the fire and in this sense like some other readers you are a muse yourself. I thank you for this and your understanding of the words written. I long to hear more of your work that I find as gems on my poetic travels

[Thomas W Case]

Brilliant. You capture the scene perfectly.

[Soren]

Thank you Thomas much appreciated

[emmajoygreen]

How visually clearly you have created the feeling of creative stillness! The mind seems to forget at times what creation, placing words in a happy order means. More than fine writing, Soren

[Soren]

You are too kind my friend and your words are most appreciated. Thank you for the read and gracious comment