In the deepest recesses of your mind
Amidst the dregs of forgotten ideas
Lies a lonely muse
Exhausted from all the pining and pleading
Resigned to slowly diminish in the shadows
Never given a chance
To walk the pages of their story
As I seek inspiration, I sift through the phlegm and detritus of memory
And there I find my forlorn muse
A form that shifts from male to female
Pretty as a hyacinth
Then hard as mahogany
Lythe with flawless skin
Then sinewed and muscular
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I am your protagonist!” The muse declares,
“I have ventured the wicked jungles of Bungatira,
And scaled the deadly mountains of the moon.
I have betrayed and paid the bitter price of redemption,
And loved the most dangerous of loves
Many have tried to kill me, many have died instead
And though one succeeded,
Still, I fought the dread Walumbe,
tyrant of the underworld!
And clawed my way from that evilest of realms.”
I gaze in awe
My long lost muse, still loyal to a fault
A huntress, standing tall and proud!
A warrior, kneeling strong with duty!
“I am sorry,” I say,
“Now let me tell your story…”
All images @pixabay .
Diana Wallace asked us to;
Post a conversation with your muse on your blog and link back to this post or leave a link in the comments. Don’t have a muse? Just open the door and see who shows up.
Hope you enjoy this. And hope you give your forgotten muse a little space on the page.
Stay safe, and stay loving.