Empty

 

I open up my little brain

To rummage for ideas,

But all the shelves are empty:

It’s the worst of writers’ fears!

There are cobwebs in the corners,

And balls of tumbleweed,

But simply no creative thoughts –

The one thing that I need!

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My Muse

 

Why is it that I find my muse

In heartbreak, grief and sadder news?

In melancholic reflection,

In festering fears and rejection?

Perhaps because I’ve naught to lose

In poems that reveal my blues,

And at my deepest, darkest lows

I find relief in rhyme and prose;

Cathartic creativity

Releases pain and sets me free.

 

Emma Hyde, age 26, 04/01/2017

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