Like the calm of the storm, inspiration floods. Where there was none, suddenly exists a rush. That is how it feels when the deity comes, that elusive divinity whose artists hearts' haunts.
Frugal and coy is the Muse's descent. Gifting sweet ambrosia and a bewitching song, enchanting the artist until it captures the soul, and leaving a cooling-sweat from labors of love.
And onto the night the Muse must return, to that unfathomable place beyond a mortal's range. Whispering her adieus to slumbered ears, into an artist's dreams where it fades to oblivion.
"When The Muse Comes"
Alec.C.Cruz
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