Looking For Inspiration

My Muse has gone. Why has she me left? 'Tis not that I am desolate nor wan But there is no doubt of her I am bereft. Struggle and strive as I may, I can summon neither image nor theme. It must be that I have lost my way. Let this offering serve as my silent scream! Whither has she fled And where does she hide? Was it something I left unsaid? Now I feel so empty inside. In her has been my one and only consolation, Yet here do I plough a barren furrow With little or no hope of any propagation. If only she would return tomorrow! This I do not wish to be my swansong, Rather that my Muse may be dormant like Lazarus Whose voice like the Phoenix will arise ere too long. Utinam exigam monumentum aere perennius!