Are You Insane? Poetry and the Poet's Muse

The muse that inspires, will a poet bless.
"It's something unique," all true poets confess,

But try to explain what your muse is and does.
"You could be insane. Yes, you must be because ..."

"Are you insane?" There may be others who ask,
Not understanding the nature of your task.

The muse, a mystery no one can explain,
Ever inspiring, again and again.

The thoughts of the poet oft run wild and free,
Expressed in a fashion that others can't see,

As the manner they state such things in their day.
Meanwhile, the poet is engaged in word play.

"Against such words, there ought to be a law,"
But freedom of speech will support this faux pas.

Awakened at night, the poet may write on,
Often continuing to wee hours of dawn.

A poet is a poet, not insane man.
He will pen poetry whenever he can.

Poetic inspiration, he calls his muse.
It's truly a gift any poet may use.

Who's in control, the muse or the poet?
The poet would say he has freedom to show it.

To follow his muse seems to be a wise path,
Even if it arouses another man's wrath.

The muse is a fire, like cinders that glow,
Creating a flame in a world that must grow.

The muse, like a firefly flying at night,
Awakens the poet's pen and he must write.

Is he insane? If he should go back to sleep,
Who knows whether or not, the words he can keep.

Capture the poetry; it should not be lost.
Or wrestle through the night with ideas tossed.

The question of insanity, you might find
Is the very last thing that comes to your mind.

You are a poet who knows that you are blessed.
How many others can pass sanity's test?

The muse, like a firefly, flying at night, awakens the poet's pen and he must write.