A Writer’s Lament

My muse has gone missing!
She just up and left.
Abandoned, alone…
I’m confused and bereft.

I’ve looked high and low,
But she’s not to be found.
Dagnabit! Why, oh why, did she
Have to go underground?

The world slows to a crawl
When my muse isn’t here.
Plainly, she is the one
Who shifts me out of low gear.

Without her, ’tis true
I’m at a sad loss.
For in most facets of life,
My muse is the boss.

What’s for dinner?
Who knows—I’m uninspired.
Want to go for a hike?
No thanks—I’m lethargic and tired.

The house is a shambles,
My hair is unkempt.
Everything’s wrong;
I’m utterly verklempt!

And writing’s the endeavor
Where my muse is most missed.
My creativity, it seems,
Has obliged to cease and desist.

I’ll struggle along,
Toiling but stumbling,
My efforts subpar,
Lackluster and bumbling.

Until her return,
Whenever that may be,
A frightening truth remains:
It’s all up to me.

Well, look who’s come back,
Having been “out for a stroll.”
Immune to my displeasure,
She thinks herself quite droll.

My irritation is growing;
I’m increasingly vexed.
Her amusement quelled,
She is genuinely perplexed.

It’s always been me, she explains:
I was the one running the show.
While she may have scattered some ducks,
It was left to me to put them all in a row.

I ponder this revelation—
It’s something I should have known.
My muse is a great help and mentor,
But I do all right on my own.

* * *
© 2014 by M.P. Witwer • All rights reserved


Better Than You

It’s inevitable, it seems, to encounter someone like this along life’s journey…

Hello, I’m new here.
I am better than you.
I’m smarter and kindlier
— Cleverer too!

You’re stupid – you’re snooty –
You’re unworthy of my precious time.
As for me, it’s plain to see:
I’m magnificent and sublime!

While I am Secretariat,
Or perhaps Seattle Slew,
The rest of you, a sorry lot,
Are destined to become glue.

This may seem rather blunt,
But that’s just how I am.
If my directness hurts you,
Well, I don’t give a damn.

Please do not advise me
To better communicate.
I’m quite capable in that regard;
My intent is to berate.

Indeed, what I am doing
Should be welcomed by you all.
In pointing out your shortcomings,
I’m cushioning the fall.

By laying out the facts,
I don’t mean to be unkind.
My superiority, once accepted,
Is a comfort, you will find.

Alas, a point of verity:
No one else is very bright.
It’s best to just acknowledge
That I am always right!

I’ll explain it again
(Since you’re all somewhat slow):
What I speak is the truth,
Because I say so.

My logic is impeccable,
My thought processes grand.
Differing with me is clear proof
That you don’t understand.

Your views would be of value
If they jelled with my opinions.
Though challenges don’t suit me,
I always welcome minions.

Yet by small-minded drudges,
I’ve been taunted and eschewed,
For showing the stupendousness
With which I am imbued.

I simply cannot fathom
Why so many do not like me.
I told you that I’m fabulous —
Could anyone disagree?

You’re all too far beneath me;
I need a brief reprieve.
Climbing back aboard my high horse,
I’ll take my humble leave.

* * *
© 2013 by M.P. Witwer. All rights reserved.