An emptiness takes over me
Struggling to break free from its mould
This heart is mildewed with aches so old
Desirous to be loved incredibly
In a way that only a poet could love his muse
Deeply, painfully, passionately
But then again...a muse is a muse is a muse...
a fleeting thing of beauty that catches the eyes
Spills of ink that changes hues,
until another comes along and changes his views....
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