Muse

It appears that muses speak

through the poet’s words

It appears that they are Greek

they stemmed from a legend

that we constantly bend…

could my father have been Zeus?

my mother Mnemosyne?

Did you see verses in my eyes?

poetry in my lies? did I inspire you to

delve deeper into your psyche?

Calliope or Erato? whom can

you devour?

None of it is true

yet all of it is how you

see me as a water nymph

say the truth you fucking do.

I can be wickedly cruel

or a spitfire that never sleeps

aches and bleeds for

no one and everyone.

Here, primarily for you.

You see I could remember

everything you ever told me

no books are needed

I’m from ancient Greece

it’s all in my memory

as you decreed.

no computers, no typewriters

no quill pens

no seals

just my lips reciting

your words

and my physical beauty

inspiring your epic poetry.

But all that was from another life

one that glows in golden hue

in a time

where you felt time

in every core of you.

We lived it then

and modern love

has killed all muses

into eating their poet alive.

They go on their knees

now

and wait in a line

for the next one

to come along

and inspire.

once upon a time

i was the only one

that read your eyes

and gave you art.

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27 thoughts on “Muse

      1. The real world’s appetite for poets is insatiable. It consumes the flesh, feasts on the heart, and picks its teeth with the soul. But, it cannot silence the poet that tells the truth. As Dan Simmon’s wrote, “Poets are the bullets in truth’s bandoleer.” Fire away Chrissy. Your aim is true.

        Liked by 3 people

      2. Thank you, Chrissy! And, I’m glad you do. My eccentricities come out in my comments and send people running to the shelter. I mean well. 😉

        Liked by 1 person

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