The Muses speak loudly to me this morning,
And I yearn to dance with them.
But I am caught in a hunt with Practicality.
I call on me: Set me free!

I feel the Creative surge within
Not put to use, it grows and burns inside.
I grab the clouds; I peel back the mountains;
I yell: I must Create!

All my time I idle on the mundane
While my Song lies muffled in my loins.
No more can that which is simply Practical
Squelch my Art, my Beauty, my Joy.

Practical speaks again: How will you survive?
What about money, the house -- you must do what pays.
Oh yea, I say, and tuck Art and Creative and Beauty
Deep within myself.