These spirits worry me, for they do not set me free.
They live inside my head, they fill my mind with dread.
These spirits shape my thoughts, but anger is all they’ve wrought.
The muses take my hands, they fill me with demands.
They shout in my ears, and create a future of fears.
They wake me with their flutes, but when I try to oblige, they’re mute.

The spirits lay inside, in my mind is where they hide.
They show themselves through my fingers, and their influence lingers.
The mute muses run my life, they are the cause of my strife.
I am not in control, for what could be my role?

When the muses are mute.

I take a break from the muses, and their constant abuses.
The pressure builds inside, for there’s nowhere they can hide.
The muses scream and shout, they want to be let out.
They promise to be good, that they misunderstood.
I release the door, they rush out, restored.
They open their smiles, and I am beguiled.

Their silence writes a thousand poems.

Is it a gift? Or is it the curse?
The curse of the mute muses.