Appeasing the muse

Days have turned into weeks
and weeks into months,
as I ponder time and again.
Wishing from the depths of my desire
to change the bleary landscape,
of this blank page.
Words have poured forth since,
the thoughtless, inarticulate words,
conveying a meaning of their own.
As if violating the theme
by their very being.
Defying the chisel of the wordsmith
denying him the simple satisfaction
of creation.
Oh these delusions of
an exhausted mind,
blaming these meaningless words
Distorting the truth doesn’t help much.

Roaming through the streets,
searching….
Walking past that beggar
limbless, groping in the dust.
An usual sight,
failing to evoke empathy.

Maybe she was really hungry,
she and her little boy.
Displaced from the distant
land of theirs;
had they traveled
feeding on the hopes that
this city would feed them.
Ignored that extended hand.
Ignored the slight nudge
Ignored that inaudible wail.
Time was fleeting
or maybe money was.
Had not the heart or the purse
for charity.
Scared of my own sympathy
just walked on,
still searching.

Came back home,
drew more alphabetical caricatures,
penned a few verses.
Nothing felt right.
Where was that,
stroke of genius,
that articulation of words,
that fire in expression?
Where in this bottomless
depth do I search?

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