A Slave Of Muse - Poem by Hannington Mumo
Early in the morning I find no rest
And in the evening though it's gone my best,
I cannot my pen repose
From toils of verse and those of prose.
Thus I've become a prisoner of words,
They sweep me to unknown Utopian lands;
Words hold me captive to smear their nuance
And present their case without pretence,
Denying me the freedom of bliss,
And all sweet joys of men remiss!
When I'm tired and seek some respite
And I think that I may make my whiles untight,
They still come to me the throes of Muse
And I never can their commands refuse;
They impose upon me a poem
Whether along the path or enjoying the warmth of home.
Other times they coerce into some form of prose
And I must take whole the prescribed dose!
I'm a prisoner of words,
An arbiter between the worlds;
A top soldier with the mightiest sword,
Enslaved by the lure of word;
Clasping the lethal triggers of the pen
That ambush both foe and friend;
The doulble-edged blades of a vital tool
To be kept away from the shallow fool!
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