February 14, 2008
Losing My Muse
So now my words have begun to fail me, I am nothing if I am unable to express myself in the eloquence of daily writing and poetry-filled thoughts. I am a nobody taking my chances in the lies and the drama thrown towards me.
There are the wraiths of need and solitude that continuously stalk me and infect my daily thoughts. My once active imagination and vibrant zest for life's lyrics have been replaced by this lacuna of dark, useless, nothingness.
I attribute this loss of inspiration to my saturation of the muses I chose. The bitterness, depression and ill-fated love I used to draw my literary guidance from have made me rigid and closed-minded. This self-reproach for my past transgressions do not offer much comfort as I lie alone every night. Solely because I never could find anyone at par with that which I desire to feel for daily.
Living sub standardly. A parasite long devoid of ambition and purpose. Content with the measly scraps of what would surely have been great.
Time now to search, not for what was lost... But for what can be gained anew. New muses, new purpose, new ambitions... a new life. No reasons, no delays...
Though I may not have the ability to indite many compositions... I would rather write one last poem that would insipire me everyday, than write a million just to help me get by every rise and set of the sun.
There are the wraiths of need and solitude that continuously stalk me and infect my daily thoughts. My once active imagination and vibrant zest for life's lyrics have been replaced by this lacuna of dark, useless, nothingness.
I attribute this loss of inspiration to my saturation of the muses I chose. The bitterness, depression and ill-fated love I used to draw my literary guidance from have made me rigid and closed-minded. This self-reproach for my past transgressions do not offer much comfort as I lie alone every night. Solely because I never could find anyone at par with that which I desire to feel for daily.
Living sub standardly. A parasite long devoid of ambition and purpose. Content with the measly scraps of what would surely have been great.
Time now to search, not for what was lost... But for what can be gained anew. New muses, new purpose, new ambitions... a new life. No reasons, no delays...
Though I may not have the ability to indite many compositions... I would rather write one last poem that would insipire me everyday, than write a million just to help me get by every rise and set of the sun.
Posted by yabs on February 14, 2008 at 11:19 AM | Comments
Comment with Facebook
Want to comment with Tabulas?. Please login.