Surrendering To the Muse

Putting up the white flag, laying down my gun Turning my back on fantasy, projects left undone Unlike other enemies, she’s neither front nor back But lives where only she can go, where color turns to black Her voice becomes a mimic, ventriloquist of my soul As words come uninvited, their letters rhyming whole Resistance now is futile, my nights pass sleep deprived Mercy vacant, her voice my own —all victory denied (Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)