Out of all these poems I've written of love and longing, Out of all these years searching in the sea of people, I still yet to understand how it's possible to have words without a muse
I often wonder what it would be like to have a muse without words I believe it would feel suffocating As you choke on all the words you long to exhale within your next breath For a poet to be trapped by words is to be trapped by passion
Sometimes my heart swells up so big it walks across a sea of words and sinks into the deepness of the waters Lost among the clearer beats on land An abnormality pushed away from love like an ancient curse buried in my skin One day i'll make it learn to swim rather than let it sink and bathe in sin
The question still remains Would it be better to have a muse and feel like drowning, Or to have the the words to accompany the lonely?