Inspiration or Comfort

It's not very good...but I've been lacking inspiration

Forgive me, dear, but I must part.

It seems this joy was too much. 

With all this love and smiles here,

Where will my pen go?

No suffering, no pain, no imperfection,

Constant company without isolation.

Where do my words go?

It is not a deranged love,

One that writers go mad about.

Rather one of peace and comfort.

Where is the adventure in that?

You do not rant and you do not rave.

Your unhappiness is an eerie calm.

Where is the emotion in that?

Time flies and I am young.

There is no inspiration in peace. 

To sleep with you or with my muse

In those long eternal nights.

My pens are growing old.

I choose my muse.