Some nights she beacons me to write

  as the muse tugs upon thy heart strings

  when words come, the mind takes flight

  soaring high above as if it had wings.

  Then there are days she isn't around

  I feel like a tree surrounded by drought.

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  It's hard not to walk around with a frown

  unbearable to take what life dishes out.

  Then inspiration returns like a rising sun

  blanketing the world with warmth and love

  much work is done as the day is clearly won

  it can make you feel invincible, sort of.

  Writing comes and goes, like waves on a shore

  yet despite the torture, I always desire more.