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Monday, 13 August 2018

Muse

I hear them speak of writer’s block. They say
they haven’t been inspired to write today.
The words just haven’t come, they grin and sigh:
‘We’ve plenty other days when we can try.’

I do not have those other days. No time
for luxuries like writer’s block are mine.
I cannot leave the page blank for an hour:
be silenced by disease or by its power.

I cannot wait for inspiration’s voice.
I have to write. I have no other choice,
or time, already cruel, will twist the knife
and cut me off before I’ve shared my life.

The words must come. There is no time to lose.
For me, the Reaper has become my Muse.

© Fran Hill


Fran Hill is a writer and English teacher based in Warwickshire, UK.

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

very moving

Luigi Pagano said...

Excellent, Fran.

Fran Hill said...

Thank you, Anonymous!

Fran Hill said...

That's kind of you, Luigi, to comment.

SC Skillman said...

Very thought-provoking... It certainly gave me a jolt. Am reading a book about Felix Dennis, filthy rich former bad-boy who must have had some kind of revelation in his later years and bequeathed his fortune to a noble tree-planting project for the future of humankind: including becoming a poet in his later years. He said fear of death had made him become a poet. That was probably only partially true, but still a very memorable and pithy remark!

Fran Hill said...

I heard about the tree-planting project on the radio this morning - so interesting! Thanks for your feedback, SC.