The Muses weep.
No one honors them with dance or song.
The Muses weaken.
Man’s only concern is War. Greed, the poison.
Eternal, the Muses sleep.
Creativity, Art, Expression lost.
Poetry from the past and present
Poetry is not my forte, but they say creativity is about being vulnerable. So, here lies all that I am, and all that I ever was.
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