my muse
can hardly raise her heavily burdened head
chiding herself for not inspiring something all anew
there is only so much sorrow
to darken the day with
there is only so much joy to wet and wash it away with
and though sometimes
she paints a familiar theme
an oft defining scene
i am if anything a canvas
full of depth and blankness bereft
never left wanting
never left without
a touch of her healing colours
intotheindigo 