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swift swish-stroke,
poetry pours on paper–
O! but slow are words to come–
yet in my head, they rise
(like bread)
and strike my senses dumb.

dip, dribble dip-dash,
prose prickles into place–
with Haste! the words now duly rush–
but in my heart, they fade
(like art)
from favour and suspense.

Alas!– she's gone!–
my muse has died!
and flown whence muses go.
when next,
my pen
will paper prick,
only the muses know.
©2009-2010 ~AlopekosTeumesios
:iconalopekosteumesios:

Author's Comments

Final piece for my creative writing class. Little bit of humor, little bit of ambivalence.

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May 18, 2009
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