Neglected Muse

The muse, a whispered, fragile thing,
By daily clamor, it fails to sing.
A screen’s bright glow, a buzzing phone,
Distract the seed, before it’s sown.

The endless tasks, a heavy chain,
Where “later” echoes, dull and vain.
And fear, that shadow, dark and deep,
Keeps slumbering visions fast asleep.