There's No Such Thing As Muse

If kiss ye can the logic out, One plus one making two is prose; Eleven petals or of rose If locked up is logic's cloyed clout. Say whatso in your heart furrows, Go where the head-held logic ends, Provided your heart understands, Be discreet still of chosen dose. Much chewed metaphors and ye lose, Hypes of hyperbole may be fine If embroidered with your own sign With innate ease, no trying hard, And well, dream not being a bard, And pray, there's no such thing as Muse. _____________________________________________________ Sonnets | 02.08.18 |