The Muted Muse

Comments Off on The Muted Muse Poetry, Writing, Issue 8

By Dana Shahar Meyer

A muted muse 
is useless, 
like a school bus 
in the summertime, 
like an extra syllable 
in a phrase rhyme. 

But still, my muse, she churns beneath the surface, 
my throat burns as she yearns to resurface, 
but she can’t discern if it would service my heavy soul, 
or just disservice 
my 
whole 
goal of keeping sane. 

All her control 
inside my brain, 
she refuses to entrain 
these thoughts to me, 
it’s inhumane, 
because here I remain, 
with no restraint 
yet nothing to say– 
my muse slain, 
but me, still gasping for a way to 
speak.

Comments are closed.