My Muse

When the muse
Gets hold of you,
Your pen suffers
And bleeds…
It rains the sky
Down in your
Processed tree,
Raining down the ideal
Accepted at the republic…
That object of admiration,
My muse gets hold of me…
Her factory feeding the state,
Building the state with milk of life…
The muse gets hold of me,
Focus lost from the ruinous world,
The ideal state is my place….
Let the muse hold me on
‘cos this state I wish not
exit….

Goddey(rawblunt) 2015

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