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**A Poets Cry to the Muses by Mariah Pompa

Mariah Pompa



An explosion of creation,
firing synapses,

thoughts always come back to this,

Sometimes in a burst of color,
Others with the spark of a wet match,

small inconsistent yet dire for my survival,

I have an IV of ink yet it still runs dry,
a clogged artery or two won't let these thoughts through,

How can I be me,
how can I be free,
how can I release these thoughts,

For some reason I can't and it drags on for days,

It all bubbles down to frustration and rage,
Cause I can't get a damn word on a page!!,

I'm getting desperate now,
I long for that part of me,
Come what may it's at the heart of me,

I beg you, Erato, Euterpe, Calliope!!,
Give me a sign!,

These words keep spinning and spinning,
Cluttering up my mind,

I will have no peace till this mind finds a remedy,
Falling out of rhyme,
Stuttering over every line,

Its lost its tempo,
But I guess that's fine,

I've written this mess and this mess is Mine.


















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