Graveyard Of Little Muses
Worthless Poet And A Muse
To compare the sun to you,
the feathered sun,
through the ocean's every shade of blue,
slipping in and out of every heart,
but mostly out of mine
I cannot do this to you.
I'm not that cruel.
To compare your heart to any heart,
it would make me a fool.
Why don't you realise
that you're more
more beautiful than my poems.
I'm tired of making you my muse.
I'm worthess, I'm not like you.
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