I wanted to share this beautiful prose written by Henry Benin. It is something that artists of all genres can relate to. Bravo Henry!
The Writers Muse Poem by Henry Benin
A muse has shadowed my whole life. She exists just outside my peripheral vision Dancing in the sunlight and moonbeams amongst the dustballs and pollen. Usually out of reach. I hear her laughing at my futile attempts at creativity.
I sense her. Smell her. Feel her tickle in my mind. She giggles playfully, maddeningly, within my exhale. Then gone as the next breath takes shape within my being.
Glimpses of countless worlds of words tango around the frills of her gown. Ever close. Ever out of focus.
But occasionally she slips and dances into my arms. I grab her and hold her tight. Breathing her breath. Feeling her warmth. She invigorates me. When caught, she gives in and caresses my thoughts. Grants me visions of the universe of words to wield at my pleasure. She shows me wonders vivid and breathtaking. Limitless knowledge, god-like intuitive insight, connecting, making sense of the senseless. She rips away the barrier of Eden to expose the bonds between atoms, between clouds, between heart smiles.
Without fail, I know these moments of clarity are fleeting. I hold onto as much as I can. Writing. Imagining. Laughing. Living. Embracing all I bury deep inside. Too deep to reach without her help.
But the more I embrace, the quicker she senses my vulnerability and begins to wiggle in my grasp. Distracted by my own imagination, she slips quickly and silently away.
Leaving me gasping.
And for a moment, frantic. Trying to find her again. Trying to hold onto her so I can finish my writing.
Finish my thought.
Finish my sentence.
Finish something.
Just finish.
But it’s too late. She is gone. And with her, my creativity and wonder. I know she will not return till she is ready. Till in her fickle awareness decides to grace me with clarity.