“September 5, 2016”

Those mornings when
the words are there
the muses, playful,
whisper in your ear
magic is here, it is alive
and you can wield wonders
purposed only to delight
but then it comes
that desperate electronic bleating
and starlight fades from fingertips
laughter turns to mockery
and the names on the shelf
of the men who wrote the books
all have faces, disapproving
shaming your lack of sacrifice
and I am left alone
with my responsibilities
a woven noose of my design
and I go, already beaten
to begin a day of platitudes
with a pinch of self-loathing
and barest traces of
an undeserved hope

© M. Black, 2016 All rights reserved.

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