The artist waits into the night,
For the Muse to arrive right.
How dependant was he,
Otherwise just could't be.
The famous poet laureate,
If he couldn't create.

Living up to his name,
Afraid of any fall or shame,
Was quite difficult.
Worrying might suffocate,
His breathing wasn't right,
He should produce tonight.

Building up of tension,
No sign of inspiration.
How long must he wait?
Not an acceptable fate!
He was the most famous,
The rest common audacious!

Muse,
Do not refuse!
A final wish for inspiration!
Or else endless depression!