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THE MUSE OF GOD
I sit
in front of
my typewriter thinking I
would like to write infinitely
better than yesterday but inspiration seems
to elude the brain as creativity plays hide and seek
among the empty rooms of my all too familiar
muse, stalled in the think tank of
mediocrity, cynically jealous
of all the brilliance
I read
here.
But who
said I had to
conjure images and words
from my own miserably inadequate
creativity, from the inferior ponderings of
the man bound view of life and death and love
when I have within my being the mind of
the divine creator from whom I may
draw sight and sound and beauty
beyond my human experience
or knowledge so freely
given to me
a mortal
© 2004/5 Rita L. Betti
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