Surrendering To The Muse

Putting up the white flag,

laying down my gun

 

Turning my back on fantasy,

projects left undone

 

Unlike other enemies,

she’s neither front nor back

 

But lives where only she can go,

where color turns to black

 

Her voice becomes a mimic,

ventriloquist of my soul

 

As words come uninvited,

their letters rhyming whole

 

Resistance now is futile,

my nights pass sleep deprived

 

Mercy vacant, her voice my own

—all victory denied

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)

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