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My Muses

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((FM, move this to 'Other Writings' please.))

I glare at the parchment that rests in front of me. It's dull surface stares back, mocking me, challenging me.

Gripping the quill tightly in my hand, I swipe the inkwell from its resting place then grimly admire the now-stained parchment.

With a melancholic sigh I drop my head into inky hands and cry out. I am alone, only wishing to pierce the heavy blanket of silence that looms over, suffocating me.

"My muses! Have you abandoned me? Have you forgotten your faithful subject? Erato, return to me those words of delight, those of passion! Make me that of Solomon in his writings! Calliope, inspire me that I may stand amongst the giants! Make my tales forever engraved in the wall of time! Euterpe, bless my tongue! Sweeten my song that it may be like honey unto my listener's ears!"

My throat tightens, I am unable to speak further. Like a child awaiting a present, I wait for my muses to inspire and bestow upon my hand and tongue a priceless gift; that of inspiration, that of motivation, that of a muses' touch.

((I'm bored. Need something to write about. Sigh.))

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