She shoos me up the staircase
while smiling
while encouraging
while prattling on
like a proud mother

“I don’t think I can”
Yet she pays no attention
and rushes past me
stopping only to point intensely
at the small X mark upon center stage

One spotlight
Exposing one, lonely microphone
(the focal point)
of a million eyeballs

One Moment
To stand my creation up
naked
in front of the masses
will they judge?
Of course!

A 1000 Times Measured
By experts of other fields
and professions
and other weird obsessions
trying to peer
deep beyond our arts intention.

The Words
Unable to break beyond the tonsils
Fearfully held in lock down
yet yearning to burst out
like children
eager to flood the playground
without shame or inhibition

The Muse, She Begs
“Do you not love your gift?
Would you rather I fade away?
Would your rather stare
at the lonely microphone
from the nose bleed seats
with the only thought
brave enough to leave your lips
is “I could’ve done that”

The Muse, She Fades
Like fog dissolving
under the pressure
under the scrutiny
of the sun’s rays

“Oh Dear Muse!”
“What shall I do?”
She looks down
gathering one last breath
and states:

"Speak now…
…or forever hold your grief.

"Speak now…
…and I’ll return to whisper into your ear, once again."