An Untitled Fragment

 

Am I, while writing poetry,
Some foreign soul, a diff'rent mind?
When I resign the poet's pen...
Do I another person find?

 

What squalid speech invades my tongue
When all my lovely Muses part!
What morbid use of words and thought
When I have not the poet's heart ...

 

But when I scale her sacred heights,
Those summits where I former dwelt,
I feel like I am born again,
And moved by Muses Homer felt.

 

-jwm

 

 

Of the Poem

 

This is a segment of a larger poem I was working on a while ago, I found it tucked away and almost forgotten. I still plan on completing the larger work, but for now I thought I'd post this portion- a portion that may very well change as I complete the rest of the poem.

 

Anyhow, I hope you like it.