There is something quite intangible in a muse
In the way inspiration strikes
Whether a slap on the face or a punch in the gut
Or a gentle whisper in the ear
The muse is always taunting in her allure
Drawing you onward, prying you for the best you can give
But elusive and distant, as intimate as she may become
Something is always a mystery
And for all the inspiration, all the gifts a muse can bring
All I ask
All I ever want from her
Is to give me something I can hold in my hands

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