(M)useless (a tritina)

I thought once that muses all danced at my fingers
Surprisingly winsome for all their dark beauty
Why not think they’d always come forth when I beckon?

But now they’re elusive, and hide when I beckon
Indifferent these days to the dance of my fingers
Not deigning to grace my blank page with their beauty

So how can I credit my past work with beauty?
Creative imposter, so powerless to beckon?
The magic was not, after all, in my fingers

But beauty they crave, and so fingers I beckon.

 

(Jumping back a moment, the NaPoWriMo prompt for day 7 was to write a Tritina, a poem with three, 3-line stanzas, and a final concluding line. The “end words” of the lines form a pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA, and all three end words appear together in the final line.)
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