The muse is gone, and for him I fawn so to once more see beauty in the light of dawn

  Is that so wrong to seek passion from song before the wonder is struck and says so long

  How many words are there which I might prepare for this bland nothing of pale compare

  Hollow, the longing to be filled with anything

  Aching, to feel even pain's bitter sting

  Broken, a man crushed by suffering

  Empty, am I even a living thing?

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  My dull verses grow the same, bleary shapes made from pain from a mind hardly sane

  How often do I think these thoughts, far more often than I aught, all again it's for naught

  Where are these greener fields, what eats these tasty meals, who enjoys these boring reels

  A fresh breath of air cuts through this despair and I see a reason to care

  But I blink and it's gone while I linger on

  Another day spent confused, again I've been used, my aspirations refused

  Yet still I can't break this cycle, the drip freeze drip of an icicle

  I miss the pain of work, the skilled challenge. I miss my fallen brothers I've yet to avenge

  I miss so many and so much, perhaps these bitter memories are my crutch

  To forget might be sweet, in a swift second my past I'd delete

  But what then? I'm not one to accept sour defeat.

  Would I build myself anew, pick myself up by my shoe and keep pressing through

  Who would accept me, where would I go, what would I do?

  If only I knew, I certainly wouldn't be complaining to you.