Melancholy of a Poet Who Lost His Muse

Happiness killed

the writer

time and again

as laughter grows

the fire dims

and embraces drew

breaths

that suffocate and

lead closer to

death.

Complacency is a poison

that spreads amnesia

until

you forget, until

you – until you lose

the words that

once effortlessly

presented itself

to create a world

of words – your words

now

disappearing like water

in your hands

you can't keep until

all that's left are

residual moistness

not enough to quench

the dry passion

that once flourished

in misery.

The muse died

because

your eyes have dried.

tears no longer

sustain the thirst

of the muse

and she

withered

away.

You try

to bring back

lost forgotten words

but your muse

does not make words

only smiles.

And the moment she smiles

You forget.