Lost Muse.

Today, I write with no life
Not because I'm tired or threatened with a knife
But because I'm lazy to have poetry as a wife
But how do I end up with these few lines?
Creativity permits me to write, whether I'm fine or not
My ink is like the juice of a new wine
My brain is like the tree called "vine"
And my mind is as the grapes of the vine
Search my heart and see that my thoughts are divine
Search my mind and see the diction I can easily define
My lines are of the finite words that spur the nerves into action
But yet today, I write with no life
Staring blankly into emptiness
There are days like this I presume but I miss it
Am I still creative or have I lost my creativity?
I just made a fine tune from the broken strings
Isn't that what creativity is all about?
Tweaking and twisting till you find your rhythm?
I guess I am not lost, I am just on my road to discovery
I would hang in there till my muse finds me
And I can dazzle with words again
Because I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions

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Cheers.

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