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My Muse Went On VacationMy muse went on vacation
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and took all my best thoughts
and all my favorite phrases,
and the bunnies with their plots,
she ran off with all the fluff stuff,
she ran off with the hero's sword--
she left me sitting here alone,
bemused and rather bored.
My muse went on vacation
To a sunny foreign clime,
and left me sitting here alone
without a word to rhyme,
She's laying on a beach somewhere
without a hint of snow,
and leaving me with winter's chill
and no place left to go.
My muse went on vacation -
I hope she's coming back
With a healthy tan, a rosy glow
and some fresh stuff to attack--
I miss her interaction,
how she drove me crazy mad,
how I teased her for the things she said
that came out rather bad.
But since my muse went on vacation
my writing's getting stale,
no smexy dancing dreams to write,
my words seem set on fail.
I promise not to tease her
if she'll only let me write -
O hurry home, bright redhaired girl,
or kiss career goodnight!
Three in the Morning Like a panther, I slink my two-hundred fifty pounds of taut, well-toned cellulose along the dark hallway. Even the slightest noise may rouse suspicion and lead to my untimely demise. My wife is, after all, a light sleeper. She was expecting me home from the bar hours ago, but I couldn't call her and tell her I'd be late; I left my cell phone at home. Of course, John's phone was dead, and the last time I saw a pay phone it was on display at a New York art museum. So all that's left for me is to spend 15 minutes creeping past dusty memories hanging on the wall towards my goal: the door.
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BONG. BONG. BONG.
I nearly jump out of my skin as the tell-tale grandfather clock on the other end of the hallway lets the world know just how late I am getting home. A brief pause at the door gives me time to take a deep, silent breath and calm my nerves before turning the handle. I have to be patient, to take my time, perhaps even hours. A gentle push, hardly more than a n
My SaraIf anyone survives the world's ending, I only want them to hear the truth. I know, if there is any history after this is over, she will not be remembered fondly. I cannot blame them. They didn't know her as I did.
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The moment we entered the world, we were engaged, tied to one another body and soul. We grew up together on the castle grounds, exploring, laughing, getting into trouble, just as all children do. My Sara had an all-consuming love of science, and of discovering the inner machinery of the world. She would take me through the castle courtyard, and show me the delicate spider-webs covered with dew, and the lacey wings she had plucked from a great fat bumblebee. Finches would build nests in the trees, and my Sara would carefully break open their eggs to examine the stages of the chicks' development. Many people would be pained to destroy innocent life for something as apparently trivial as knowledge for its own sake, but not my Sara. She looked beyond a single, pitiful life in sea