My Muse - An Exercise
I was given a project by an english professor to describe my muse.... here you go
My Muse, how amusing. Sparkling lights, dancing colors, all those nifty possibilities that exist. She sings to me inspiring my work… my writings, my art… She must have a sense of humor… or a wonderful irony about her. She’ll abandon me at a whim hanging and dangling on a thread just for amusement… or force my words and pen strokes into areas I don’t really wish to go. Cold…hard… unforgiving at time… yet she’s also careful with me… delicate and gentle guiding my had to places un-thought of and wonderful.
A can never physically see her manifest… never had any thought of her appearance… though I’d imagine her tall and lithe, with long dark hair, and soft green eyes that slightly glowed with an eerie luminosity. Dressed in a flowing white gown that spreads like liquid silk around her feet. Her voice is melodic and musical that could calm any beast when she wishes and frighten any monster when she is angry. Her wail is like a banshee terrifying all who hear it… My ears could hear the wail as she flies off leaving me without my muse my fingers lost on the paper unable to decide where to go. I can beg and plead and search for her but it never works… she’ll only return when her whim suits it and my words will flow free again.
She returns with the full force of a hurrican pounding against and inside my head when I least expect it… I have to find paper and pencil… ANY paper and pencil… I’ve more than a few poems on register tape.
In short… My muse is a sadistic bitch.
My Muse, how amusing. Sparkling lights, dancing colors, all those nifty possibilities that exist. She sings to me inspiring my work… my writings, my art… She must have a sense of humor… or a wonderful irony about her. She’ll abandon me at a whim hanging and dangling on a thread just for amusement… or force my words and pen strokes into areas I don’t really wish to go. Cold…hard… unforgiving at time… yet she’s also careful with me… delicate and gentle guiding my had to places un-thought of and wonderful.
A can never physically see her manifest… never had any thought of her appearance… though I’d imagine her tall and lithe, with long dark hair, and soft green eyes that slightly glowed with an eerie luminosity. Dressed in a flowing white gown that spreads like liquid silk around her feet. Her voice is melodic and musical that could calm any beast when she wishes and frighten any monster when she is angry. Her wail is like a banshee terrifying all who hear it… My ears could hear the wail as she flies off leaving me without my muse my fingers lost on the paper unable to decide where to go. I can beg and plead and search for her but it never works… she’ll only return when her whim suits it and my words will flow free again.
She returns with the full force of a hurrican pounding against and inside my head when I least expect it… I have to find paper and pencil… ANY paper and pencil… I’ve more than a few poems on register tape.
In short… My muse is a sadistic bitch.
posted by Drathari at 3:42 PM
1 Comments:
Your muse sounds hot. I wish I had a hot muse; he's generally an ugly, lecherous bastard, though.
Explains a lot, don'it?
Oh, and the writing is nifty too.
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