Memoirs Of A Muse

I'll dream again tonight, of my beautiful charming Prince. I created him, being desperately lonely and healing my own wounded heart. It's very hard for a muse not to become absorbed whilst inspiring, and I was most consumed. So as I sat one evening, relishing the memories of a recent lover and listening to the sounds of his voice growing faint. I heard the call of need of another. And so the story goes.

Remolding his face to suit my eyes, I now found him familiar. His armor so crass, I polished it soft, until it shined. He spoke words that pierced like daggers, so I gave him tenderness to whisper. He only knew of textures rough as burlap, and I sewed for him a cloak of silk. Lifting his worried tattered brow, I comforted and soothed the painfully rejected ego of a man. Then, gently, stroked back to life and opened a door for his closeted and smothered soul to find breath.

Reaching too far to see, to touch the depth of him.. I drank ravenously of his sorrow and guilt, and ate from his plate of contempt and anger as if it were my own. Holding him as passionately and tightly as death's grip. He'd become my possession, my obsession, and my new prince. With his heart strands I would weave a most handsome tapestry of a man, feeling such pleasure in piecing back together the scattered fractals. He was now proud and honorable with compassion, and I was determined above all else in his love. So the dance began, in movement as one, my lovely Swan Prince and I.

His insistence to steer and navigate on his own increased. Reluctantly, I agreed. After all, he did call me, and his choices were his own. So, without direction, I gave to him a map of self. And with this new map, he blindly wandered. Inevitably, he met and befriended the guise of fear. My handsome prince was failing miserably, and turning a deaf ear to heed fear’s surrender. Where hope once flourished, he had replaced it with a downward spiral of dead ends. But, over and over again, I placed him back upon his pedestal, until the falls became unbearably brutal. There was a time he'd run to be by my side, now he just ran to hide. Oh my, he did unravel.

Seems like forever ago, that I carried him along those beaches, where the seas of emotions meet timeless love, but he had become so heavy and I so tired.. Now, as I stand at the water's edge, looking back at my much shallower footprints in the sand, I watch the tide roll out and wave to him, goodbye.

There are no more tears left to cry. I mean, what's the point?

It's just that I've mused, and mused,

until I've become,

un-amused.