My Muse

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

thinking too much

there is a rumour
of empty space
its hallow call
fills the breath
of room it
usually occupies

as it tries its
feeble best
to spread its peace

the clusters of chaos
have advancedly arrived
they nudge and jostle
trilling their slogans
each wanting to
trigger

struggling one above the other
to subsume
in desires to consume

“that is the dilemma when you think too much”