Elegy to a Muse
by The Prophet, July 6, 2000
I wrote this during a volleyball game. I was the manager of the team and I was getting bored because nothing was really happening. Then it just came to me to write something about a muse because I've been thinking about poetry all day and how writer's or musicians would call upon one of the muses to give them the ability to write something good. And I thought, what would they think or do if their talent was disappearing, if the Muse's powers were true, but it was dying?
Oh my muse, why do you cry?
What horror could make your
beautiful frame shudder so?
Has some invocator of yours abandoned you?
No beautiful form should ever be marred with the scars of sorrow.
Your fiery locks wave like the flames of a
dying fire.
And your ethereal body is slowly
fading from my sight.
Has faith been discarded by unworthy fools?
Being pitiful, I try to solidify your
presence with my faith, only in futility!
Because it is not enough!
O what shall I do if you disappear?
What can I do without my Muse?
My muse who makes me bearable,
you shall not wither.
Tis only cruelty for a muse to wither
in such a world as this.
Thinking so, makes you so.
But our beliefs change, not mine, never mine,
but theirs do and I cannot stop it.