The Elusive Muse

He comes as I sleep. The doors locked, the windows shut tight - my mind, my spirit barred against any unwanted, inconvenient truth or distraction. My dreams, my waking, my life so much easier when I do not have to think. Creation is tiresome - my mind calculates to perfection and the ever present nagging arrives. What next? What now? How comfortable it would be to slip into oblivion and never push again, waiting in my own mediocrity for ideas, rhymes, lyrics, and expressions I discovered years ago to be covered by a more driven being. My genius unknown and untapped, all my own and all together pleasant. But when day breaks, he has come and slipped away and left me with another thought, image, reason - and it drives me. Whether it be a song, a story, or a picture, I must seek him in the work. I must must seek his vision - I must answer and I must create. For while he is mine, I moreover, am his. He is my Muse and I his slave.