The Muse

The supercilious lady
Who sits in her ivory tower
She wantonly flaunts what she's been given
A benefaction that wont be dispensed

Denied the right of the wunderkind
Panjandrum: this four-letter whore
A jobbery lass, but what do I gain?
No indelible marks on the world, that's for sure

Barely a moiety is what's left for me,
not enough for a sip at her potable spring.
To conflate the matters at hand
While capacious, her supply can not meet demand

Abandoning me to voyeur on others,
To watch and to wait
To give and to take
All addicts are we, once we've had the first taste

The End

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