It's rather a strange drabble of a poem.. not in my usual style, but I hope you like it. ^^;;


Poet and the Muse


You were my muse,
A reason for writing; the picture I painted.
Canvas overflowed with scarlet,
Words snaked free from my fingers.
The muse that challenged my mind,
Shocked me into silence.

You were the muse that I would dream,
The slopes of your face made my work.
Thoughts of a surreal land,
I surrendered into oblivion; shattered and abashed.
A poem that changed my mind.

You were the muse from another life,
Reborn to remind me of myself.
I was the poet and the dreamer,
My mind a child's; almost dull.
You were the muse that freed me,
I'll thank you for that.

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

How very pretty, Seral.
Ahhh ~ I adore the way you write with such amazing description.
-smiles-

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"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination" - Oscar Wilde

It was actually a bit out of style, though... but I enjoyed writing it.
-nodnodnod-
It could have been a little longer, too.
But thank yoooooouuu! -le hoogles-

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-