My Muse screams at me
Awaken Poet Odd…. Awaken and sing the songs YOU MUST SING!
Incessant she is! She reveals herself to me. I clutch a pillow and cover my head for she will not let me be.
Like a torrential summer downpour, the raging of a river wild, the growl of a hungry animal or a Child’s gentle smile.
”The clock ticks Poet Odd. You have strummed but a chord, one note you have made. There is much more to your song that really must be played.”
“Leave me be Muse! I seek Dionysus sweet dreams!
Kneel at the altar of Bacchus and request oblivion melodious embrace.
I seek the night,
Not sunshine on my face.
I seek no companionship
Nor a Lady, fair, dressed in leather or lace.
Loneliness is my only friend
It suits my bitter taste.”
She chuckled and prodded and urged me to my task,
Her face radiant, her beauty unsurpassed.
She glowed like moonlight casting shadows about the room
Suddenly she shone so bright she pierced the bitter gloom.
I cried, “Words are useless, pathetic human constructs,
Malformed metaphors and simplistic Similes,
They can never pierce the human soul,
That can never be.”
“I tried too many times to penetrate that gloom,
But in the end it is the Poet’s bitter doom”
“Words have failed me in the past,
Why take on this useless task”
My muse smiled at me and dimmed her brilliant light.
“Poet Odd I am your muse I will give you sight.
You were born for this quest,
Your self-doubt is just a test.
Which you shall pass,
And put your doubts to rest.”
“Do you forget so easily?
When you sang that song in church,
Your voice strong and mighty.
I was at your side that day.
You threw away the paper for you had words to say.
Your voice boomed across that room filled with passion and love.
Sometimes vehement, sometimes angry, most times caressing like a velvet glove.”
“They laughed
They cried,
They thought,
They sighed.”
“You changed hearts that day!
For your words were strong and true,
Did they not call you Word Man?
Tears in their eyes, did they not hug you and shake your hand?”
“Remember one thing Poet Odd,
Your words are your sword,
However, you must wield them straight and true,
That is why you are here,
That is what you must do”
“Arise and write Poet Odd for I will never leave you be!”
I rose slowly from the couch.
Bitter tears streaming down my face.
It was useless to resist her pleas
So I grabbed my writers pouch.
Out came my quill,
Indeed a bitter pill.
I started to write and the words flowed.
My Muse smiled.
I
Wept
Tags: Art, Creativity, Inspiration, Muse
I know… I know… I hate that damn muse…it seems there is no rest… fists of furry pummel deep.… it feels a mighty test…
and one I’m not sure that I trust…
Great write Quas
Thanks Jenn