To Inspiration.

Hello, Inspiration:

This is your unfaithful servant.
It’s not my fault you’d chosen a coward
and won’t stop blasting her with visions.
I’m not responsible for your noises
nor the beauty that I’ve seen
for I’m not the one that’s destroying it
though I’ll admit it’s kinda pretty.

Without you where I’d be?
Pretty sure I’d be more at ease
enjoying the sun & the days without the heartache
that I’d be missing out of anything.
Sometimes I wish I don’t see
the future that can be
or the present that bothers me
and just be OK to be aloof
and write coward songs
and coward poems
thinking out loud but apologize
with every opportunity.
But what is this?
Are you the voice that’s killing me?
Toiling over & over all alone?
To what end so far from home?

This is a coward song
telling you I’m late again.
Can’t help with the hesitations
nor the shaky voice & the shaky hands.
It’s never getting easier
I know that now.
For every drop of water, a world.
And every human being,
her own heaven & hell.

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