I Have Found My Muse

“That’s It!” I cry!

I have chased round and round

This form that I’ve adopted, only to discover

The thing on which I’ve seized and tried to emulate

Is a pale shadow of the master’s design.

A structure and sensibility unfolding on my page

Like the natural language of my mother tongue.

Perhaps it haunts me from an age gone by,

A reading that subconsciously I adopted,

Not truly my own as once I thought,

But purloined from some other page of prose or poetry.

Could such a thing be so, that once encountered

So long ago it stayed in some deep recess

To be released as something bright and new to me?

Disjointed forms that slip from this and that

Then resolve into pattern fixed and rigid then dissolve

Becoming a single thing that I am driving at.

It all seemed so familiar, so eloquently easy

To slip into staccato cadences or flowing rhythms,

Unconsciously letting words create mood

And phrases develop into meaning.

Where have I heard it all before?

I fain would take credit if certainty were mine,

That this style is unique, a product of my labours.

Alas, I’ve discovered that it is not so.

Not that I would dare to equate my efforts

With the master from whom I absconded with this form

But I must give credit where it is due.

Thank you Mr. T. S. Eliot for the inspiration of

“ The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock”.

Mea Culpa.

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