My Muse

I’m staring at my notebook
Whose pages I’ve perused
To double-check a topic;
My muse is quite bemused.

For lately I’ve been empty
Where always I’ve enthused.
I don’t know why poetic themes
Have slowed and barely oozed.

My confidence is sagging;
My ego’s slightly bruised.
I need a jolt of energy
To somehow be infused.

But meanwhile as I struggle,
Where once I blithely cruised,
My muse just sits there mocking
And I’m really not amused.