Creativity's Muse

I sit, I stare, I ponder ...

Of what, I do not know.

I allow my mind to wonder,

Wait for words to flow...

But what begins to happen?

The hubris of man.

To think muse can be timed,

Masterpiece "on demand."

I think more still of inspiration,

What causes creativity to strike?

Is it an act of nature,

Or human nature's right?

Can one make something happen,

If they want it bad enough?

Does fate exist within us,

Our diamond in the rough?

Pondering what happens when one's allowed to breathe,

Can often come with the sacrifice of what it means to succeed.

Society's own ills, what makes masters, what breeds fame.

Can't just come from the privilege of our ability to be tamed.

History might teach us to learn what rules to break,

Yet not all are entitled, and is that not why we then create?

Reality is one thing,

Imagination, a skill.

It does not come from taking,

But a need to be fulfilled.

We carve our names in remnants,

Fractures left to waste.

We are taught to work hard,

To wait, and wait... and wait.

I sit,

I stare,

I ponder...

Of what... confounds me more.

For I am just a creator, in want to be adored.

My weight in blood pours from my veins into the art I make...

And still, it goes unnoticed.

Just wait, just wait...

No,

Wait…

Does it have to matter? The facts of life and man...

Or can Muse be a doer,

As active as our hands.

Stop sitting, staring, wondering, and waiting for a sign.

It doesn't matter what it makes of you,

Just that it gives you life.

☆ ~ Glory Anna ~ ☆