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, and I find most poetry to be sad or reflective of a teenage depressive state, but I have shared my rather crappy and depressive poetry to show my progression from sad and weird teen angst to sad
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