About the Poem
How many of us have sat in front of the monitor, or the typewriter for hours! Blinking, blank, staring. Only to have our Muse tap at our creativity just before we fall over that edge of sleep. I think my Muse lives for just that kind of annoyance.
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|by Veronica Ann Cech|
My muse is dead, just up and died.
Never left a note, never said goodbye.
I cajole her and beg her and still she sleeps.
My creative flair, a prisoner she keeps.
I bang my head, and bite my nails.
And still no creative tales.
So at long last I give up the fight,
Turn off the PC, and say goodnight.
And just as my body drifts off to sleep,
I hear this annoying little "peep"
I tell her . . . "No, go away . . .
I called and called for you all day! "
But the "peeps" persist and grow louder still
Until from my slumber I am drawn against my will.
So here I sit in the middle of the night,
Gleaning a strange comfort from the monitor's light.
And wait and wait for my muse to speak,
But all I get is that annoying "peep!"
You might find me one early morn , passed on , gone to my Lord,
And all because my muse was bored!