Poem: The Muse

The Muse

She is a fickle thing, a shape shifter,
a flirt, a tease, a shrew
who has the uncomfortable habit
of knowing you better than you know yourself,
and creating truths
you would have sworn were lies,
scattering all you thought you knew
like ribbons in the wind.

About this poem

I have a love/hate relationship with mine.

The picture was taken at the Sterling Renaissance Fair, a few years ago.


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