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Thursday, October 21, 2010

My Terrible Muse


She sits with me above . . .
A terrible mistress, a huntress with a bow . . .
She sits on me now . . .
Waits to prey on me below.

She sits heavy above my brow,
Though all my heart is love
She calls down, a raven mocking,
A weasel snapping at a dove.

She sits with me now
Raining out my fears,
She strikes another hurtful blow
Calling names, calling jeers.

When she sits with me
All of life's a joke
And then I look back at her . .
I see the blackest smoke.

When she is alone with me . .
Though all my heart is love
All I can do is wait her out,
Until skies are clear above.

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