Blank Verse
When one of inspiration is shorn
And every poetic thought stillborn
When every glimmer of light disappears
And every proud conceit ends in tears
Should I to my unheeding Muses turn
And offer holocausts for them to spurn?
Would Melpomene listen,Thalia heed
And grant help in my hour of need?
Why do they cast me so cruelly aside
In my own grim Hades to abide?
Prayers do I offer for this barren time
Wherein the empty page is branded crime.
Copyright © Denis Bruce | Year Posted 2013
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