Yesterdays poem got me thinking about personifications and oppisites. if every ying has it’s yang, every light its dark. then what about inspiration. who would play against my crazed muse.

 

the dark form of reality

She never walks in moonlight
there’s no sunshine in her hair.
When i see her face
Birds aren’t singing everywhere
She has no time for dreaming
and she cannot stand to see
an artist or a writer
show their creativity.
She squashes all my dreams
and the wishes that i had.
she doesn’t care for thoughts
be they happy, be they sad.
she wants the world to stay
as we see it at first glance.
she’ll never give imagining
a fair and even chance.
substance and solidity
are all she longs to find.
she doesn’t like the fantasies
that dance throughout my mind.
so now i stay away from her
and live my life in lies.
I try to fight the madness
 in inspirations eyes.
For he is my salvation
when reality is here.
I know that she cant hurt me
when the mad old muse is near.
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