How To Murder Your Muse by C1nderellaMan, literature
Literature
How To Murder Your Muse
I can't think! My poems stink!
My rhymes just stare blankly and seldomly blink.
My writing is crabby, my citing is flabby
My verses were cursed by my three year old tabby.
"Not feeling inspired?" my doctor inquired,
"Maybe your muse feels abused and retired?"
"Here are some pills, they're crunchy and pink.
Take two at bedtime with plenty of drink!
By morning your musings will bandage their bruising.
Your rhymes will be chiming and bouncing and cruising!"
"He's a real pro." I thoughtfully thinked.
Munching on meds I then said, "All right pink,
let's cure my write crisis and restock my ink!"
As late evening crept, I slept and I dreamed.
I s
Some dreams seem to be much more
like little plays with two encores
like snowy days with sunshine rays
or something shiny at the store
Some dreams seem to never end
like birthday weekends with a friend
like bubbly suds in giant tubs
or blanket castles to pretend
Some dreams seem to linger there
like Grandma's perfume in the air
like sticky buns upon your tongue
or winter snowflakes in your hair
A daytime dream can sometimes spark
a springtime smell or meadowlark
I watch the snow just swirl and blow
and let the daydreams come and go.