I sought her in the form
of a never was daughter
who will never be born
because she was just
a minor possibility.

I sought her
in the sick slaughter
of innocent
children, women,
and men.

I sought her
in the stories
I read
before I slipped
off to bed.

And when I
could not find her
I thought she was
dead.

But to pursue
my muse
is to confuse
the mind
I seek to use,

it is an abuse
of my mental faculties
to chase clarity
when I could
just as easily
find it in solitude
and simplicity
while simply
reflecting
silently
on all of reality
letting my poetry
come to me
naturally.