The Muse and the Whim

Within the safe, strong walls of the chest
Happens a prying prick, a constant nag

Like from the sword of an amateur fencer
This crude and dull, flashes of insight

Fancy a word here and a thought there
But the mind fights for a certain array

The journeyman that is within comes calling
The blade's hilt is tightly clasped from falling

Back and forth, the notorious wit does circus
This game of steel, takes no cue from precursor

Wide, the doors that open troves of sketches
A swordsman ought to treasure his focus

As calmness cloaks the drumbeats retreating
A shade of poise, paints this dancing.