The Muse

IMAGE FLOWERThe muse stalls on rancour between edges
The centre falls apart and clings downwards
To a side clenching the wrist above the knuckles
Sometime I dread my inferiority suppresses my notch
Oh! What a pattern to behold
Silence and clamour meets
Amidst a trending coma looming in the air
The poignant substance of my weariness
May sub judge thy temperament of holiness?
Of what stature do I impose
A longing stare of gratitude
Each time the moon sets its pace
And my head dares a race
A cover bears on my essence
Of where I truly belong

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