Creative Curmudgeon

An artist is always alone.
His solitude possesses his soul.
In silence, his muse seeps into his bones

with a talent that is borrowed; on loan     
from He who has given control.
An artist is always alone.

He works secluded. No sound, no phone -
his worded madness will take its toll,
in silence, his muse seeps into his bones.

His hidden talents seemed to have grown
to lift him from this creative hole,
an artist is always alone.

Once his hermetic cover is blown
he’ll find his heart is bared to extol.
In silence, his muse seeps into his bones

so it is there he finds his “zone”,
inspired to prompt and cajole.
An artist is always alone.
In silence, his muse seeps into his bones

 © JPW – 2013

Margo Roby’s Wordgathering – Poem Tryouts: It’s Miller Time

dVerse - Poets Pub - OLN #114