Muses, Madness, and Writing Villanelle

As the sky goes dark, the need for sleep

gathers upon my shoulders, but my brain wakes.

It has stories to tell me and each dream a peep

full of colors and magnificent scenes, and I fall deep

between the waves, ebbing back and forth faster than daybreaks

and my muses, they are nocturnal and creep

between the shadows, and stalk the hours that get steep.

And the minutes pile up that I stay awake,

as my muses feed me their joy, sorrow and rage in one heap.

My fingers race to capture each sentence as it seeps

between the lines of day and night, and my hands shake

with anticipation and adrenaline and I try to keep

myself together for the madness of artistry and prose reaps

every waking second, and my heart quakes

with a passion of words as each sentence weeps

from fingertips and tongue and I no longer need to fall asleep.

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