By Sunder
I’ve had some doubts here and there,
Especially since I’m not one to read well.
I can’t focus as much as I used to,
No more lucid surrealism I once went through.
There are spikes and hurdles everywhere,
Inside even my heart, it didn’t seem fair.
Is it too late to rekindle my love affair,
When my Muse left me with none to bear?
I yelled at her to just get the hell away,
Since I’ve been working in school all day.
Bit by bit, she was slowly fading,
As I stop reading, writing, and painting.
Now that I’ve matured, will she hear me?
Will she accept my pleas of forgiveness;
Will she graciously give her creativity;
Or will I be engulfed in emptiness?
Are you there,
My Lady?