Is that your Muse knocking?

Is it a whisper
Is a shout
That book that’s in you
That wants let out

I know there is that funny thing, that sad thing, that weird thing, that scary thing that you have locked behind the doors of your mind that you have an itch to let fly. You would not believe the rush you get when you do let it out. Both you and your idea take wings. The added benefit is that it, like a planted field, grows more winged dreams that takes hold of you and carries you aloft to a place of which you have only heard in song.

Some call it your muse. Some say it is your true spirit, like a bird released from a cage, and finally knowing freedom.

When I was only 17, a freshman at Louisiana State University, I chanced on reading a poem by Ogden Nash. For some reason it resonated within me and I memorized it and occasionally repeat it out loud, for it seems to indicate to be the true me before I liberated my muse from her cage—and she carried me with her.

Here it is. Is this you? Is this the unfreed you?

There is a knocking in the skull,
An endless silent shout
Of something beating on a wall,
And crying, “Let me out!”

That solitary prisoner
Will never hear reply.
No comrade in eternity
Can hear the frantic cry.

No heart can share the terror
That haunts his monstrous dark.
The light that filters through the chinks
No other eye can mark.

When flesh is linked with eager flesh,
And words run warm and full,
I think that he is loneliest then,
The captive in the skull.

Caught in a mesh of living veins,
In cell of padded bone,
He loneliest is when he pretends
That he is not alone.

We’d free the incarcerate race of man
That such a doom endures
Could only you unlock my skull,
Or I creep into yours.
Ogden Nash