Muse Blasphemy

Not really what I feel right now, but I just remembered feeling this way, and the poem came up like stale vomit. Hopefully you like it more than vomit, though....

I channeled the muse of love,

I poured a glass of her sweet wine out onto the page,

Drenched each word I wrote for you with all that sentiment,

But where did it leave me?

At long last, as is always the case when we dare to feel too much,

Bereft, grieving, feeling like love is the enemy.

That dreadful b***h.

Sometimes I want to smother her with a pillow,

Her with her callous beauty and her holy airs,

Most deceitful of all the muses.

 

I channeled the muse of hope,

I renewed myself in her spring and came out dripping,

Spilled her life into all that I saw and did for just that little while,

But where did she take me?

Of course, as is always the case when we embrace her too tightly,

She left me standing in the desert with a dead rose in my hand.

That dreadful b***h.

Sometimes I want to choke the life from her,

Her with her promises and misguidings,

Most conniving of all the muses.

 

Muses must, as all in life, turn on us a time or two or three

Lest we ever forget that sometimes we have to find

Our own pathway to the garden of Eden.

 

 

Reviews

[terena]

Beautifully detailed. The mere thought of a muse is an amazing muse in itself. As a side note, cudos on using a "bad word" tastefully.

[Chad Wesley Allbrett]

I like this one; love can indeed seem like a dreadful b***h sometimes!

[shadadakiya]

well that is really wild