It is such a fragile state of mind through which my muse enters inner-space. Time and time again my world questions my right to act upon it, or simply brings about events that break the mood, destroy the trance.
UNLICENSED SCRIBE
I need to write
It's like breathing
I suck it in -
The blank whiteness
Of a wordless place -
And fullfil the task
Of splattering
Black erratic shapes
And meaty squiggles
In geometric lines
Across what is
My empty world.
She asked me who
Gave me permission?
Her real question:
Have I created
Inner-space debris
It will take centuries
To clean up
Like polluting
Space-junk?
© Griffonner 2026
Poetry by Griffonner
Written on 2026-08-08 at 10:48
Tags Muse Writing Purpose
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