Sweet Revenge - To My Muse

Every creative soul may have experienced at one time or the other a complete lack of inspiration, a blankness of mind, which leaves the writer feeling like a vagrant in a desert. I am no exception. It's been so long since I wrote anything creative.

This is my sweet revenge at my poetic muse who has deserted me for the past few years, my defiant come back at the tyrant. Although this piece sounds serious in nature I can assure you that I had loads of fun writing it.

Most of us who write poetry need a surge of emotions or inspiration to keep writing. At least for me poetry without emotion is a like fossil cleaned and put up on show. Though it might contain rightly chosen words, chiseled and carved to fit perfectly into rhyme, rhythm and meter, it remains lifeless, nonetheless. Although many come to see the exhibit, they never really experience it. Everyone may not subscribe to this idea, it's just my take on poetry. Having said that, sometimes we do have to learn not to depend heavily on our muse for our writing. We need to dig deep and find something from the past to keep the words flowing, its the thing called determination - the rhythm of life.

She has lain here,

These half a dozen years,

Covered in dirt and neglect,

Cold and bleak,

Devoid of the fire within,

Seeking refuge in the dark bosom of the earth,

Who with pity spread her warm mantle,

Of verdant springy grass,

Maybe a bloom or two now and again,

To mourn her untimely death.

Woven into nature's fabric,

She now in peace rests.

Who are you, now demanding her existence?

Where have you been so long

You mercurial Muse?

She knows you not,

Your voice is like a stranger's,

Her ears are deafened to your calls,

Her senses have been numbed,

Tear drained eyes have lost their light,

Her mind has lost recall,

Her words cannot summon those fragile wisps of magic,

Nor her fingers work those wands of enchantment anymore.

You've ceased to exist!

She acknowledges not your pleas,

Refusing to be entangled once again,

In your promises so sweet.

You've once held her in your arms,

Close to your clanging heart,

Bedazzled and enticed,

She cleaved to you, only to discover,

You had already flitted off to another wandering heart,

Blanking out her mind into nothingness,

She had no words to grace her pages,

No dreams to fill her heart with warmth,

No fantasy to inspire and enthrall.

You faithless one,

You merciless tyrant,

You heartless brute,

Go away now.

Take away your trowels and spades,

Employed to uncover the remains,

Now buried deep under the tombstone,

Which reads :-

She has renounced you forever,

Razed you from her memory,

As she lies here in the depth,

Of peace and Lethe,

This is her sweet revenge,

She belongs to none,

She cannot be summoned,

At your flitty will,

To be your hands,

Breathing life into these pages,

Goaded by your giddy lies.

Do not ever disturb the one who sleeps,

She will rise again only of her own accord,

Bringing life to what she wills,

Flighting her words as she did before,

On wings of magical hues and tints,

Suffusing them with emotions deep,

Inundating them with intense desire,

Words chosen wholly,

For her singular pleasure.