I have no muse to guide my hand,
No whisper soft from distant land,
No phantom grace to light my mind,
Inspiration's spark I cannot find.

My thoughts are void, my canvas bare,
A silent heart, no songs to share.
The echoes fade in hollow halls,
Where once did sing, now silence falls.

Yet in this void, a shadow stirs,
A subtle hum of ancient words.
From deep within, a whisper low,
A hidden well where muses flow.

For in the stillness, truths are born,
In absence, dreams are softly worn.
And though no muse may lead me on,
From emptiness, new dawns are drawn.

So I embrace this silent night,
With faith in dark, I'll find the light.
For even in the muse's absence,
The heart can birth its own brilliance.