deepundergroundpoetry.com
Poems From the Past
My muse left me without even saying goodbye
I guess she thought she was beginning to live a lie
She probably found someone with a better sense of rhythm and rhyme
Someone that doesn’t use slants because they have a more creative mind
Who uses iamb, trochee, spondee and writes in poetic form
Disciplined and educated for which writing daily is the norm
It is my own fault because I didn’t write as often as I should
But with a lack of confidence I wasn’t sure I even could
My mind scattered I spent spare time fixing up an old car
Then wasted hour upon hour trying to learn to play guitar
I updated Facebook and searched for oddities and treasures on ebay
Which was better than writing poetry with nothing profound to say
When I wanted to write my muse had a headache or wasn’t in the mood
And who was I to start a fight, so I took a nap instead of being rude
Now I’m left with only memories of my muse in our poems from the past
I fantasized about how great we were together, but somehow knew it wouldn’t last
Maybe one day she’ll come back inspired by love or lust to take my hand and move the pen or tap computer keys
Until then my thoughts remain scattered, random words and phrases and partial poems lie half naked on the page, just a tease
I guess she thought she was beginning to live a lie
She probably found someone with a better sense of rhythm and rhyme
Someone that doesn’t use slants because they have a more creative mind
Who uses iamb, trochee, spondee and writes in poetic form
Disciplined and educated for which writing daily is the norm
It is my own fault because I didn’t write as often as I should
But with a lack of confidence I wasn’t sure I even could
My mind scattered I spent spare time fixing up an old car
Then wasted hour upon hour trying to learn to play guitar
I updated Facebook and searched for oddities and treasures on ebay
Which was better than writing poetry with nothing profound to say
When I wanted to write my muse had a headache or wasn’t in the mood
And who was I to start a fight, so I took a nap instead of being rude
Now I’m left with only memories of my muse in our poems from the past
I fantasized about how great we were together, but somehow knew it wouldn’t last
Maybe one day she’ll come back inspired by love or lust to take my hand and move the pen or tap computer keys
Until then my thoughts remain scattered, random words and phrases and partial poems lie half naked on the page, just a tease
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