There was a time when I followed after the muse but she was a ghost. She took many forms. Once she took the form of a butterfly and brushed her wings against my hand as she flew by.
Up she flew out of sight calling me upwards and so I went.
I chased and chased and she denied me and the more I pursued the more lost I became.
Inspiration turned to desperation and bitterness and so I turned away.
My spirit broke under the weight of her thrall, from which there is no recovery. Just like a dam that breaks at the bottom and caves in on itself, that was the crush of my spirit.
The weight of her influence I will never entertain again.
My inspiration needed no ascension. My inspiration lives in the realms above.
I simply allowed her to dance with my inspiration like a leaf falling from a tree.
No dear muse...it is you that must ascend...I am the sky you dance beneath.