My Muse,Out of Order

Maybe tomorrow my muse will come,

Maybe such a word full of hope,

My muse runs away when the grey sky,

dirty and smelly streets come my way,

She gets smaller and smaller,

melting her essence into the drain,

when cursing is the music

that the streets play,

Surely my muse will come tomorrow

with her smile bringing

sun on the colourless sky,

Maybe I’ll be home for her!

Home such a comfy feeling.

2 thoughts on “My Muse,Out of Order

  1. Louis Kasatkin

    This poem has a very subtle and disarming charm to it.It neatly highlights and contrasts the exterior world with that of the interior ,creative drive of the narrator.Circumstances,in this poem,”the streets” appear to determine Consciousness, relating to the arrival or manifestation of the narrator’s “muse”.

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