They came together,
she was a potter,
he an artist –
both struggling to get along.
Surrounded by muses,
his white canvas came alive,
she created vases at her potter’s wheel
and sold them at the local market.
Together they dreamed,
the many dreams they dared to have,
setting the world on fire –
with the talent they had.
Then she discovered,
that he had started living in a fantasy world,
a world of many different muses,
It was as if he could see them,
she never understood,
she only knew that deep in the night,
when she was tired,
he was till singing,
and painting like a crazy man,
that had to do it –
do or die.
Alone she would cry herself to sleep,
in the morning packing up her wares
and off to the market,
while he slept off the inspiration,
of another long night,
in which his muses whispered to him.
She tried to tell him,
that it was tearing her apart,
she tried to tell him –
that his muses were taking over their love.
He knew and he wished,
that things could be different,
but somehow I love you,
never passed his lips.
Deep in his heart he cared,
deep in his heart she was his love,
but he was caught up,
in a fantasy world of muses
and red, red, wine.
Came the day that she couldn’t go on,
came the day that she went away.
He felt alone and scared,
but believed her when she said,
that she couldn’t compete with muses,
with fantasy, late nights and flowing wine.
The days dragged on
and he painted like soon he would die.
Finally came the day,
when his heart was shattering in a million pieces,
he wanted her so badly.
He didn’t realize,
that the muses understood,
but they were a jealous lot,
always singing and inspiring.
It was that very night,
he began to paint,
like he had never painted before.
Her face began to appear on his canvas,
with each stroke of the brush and each sip of wine –
her eyes began to sparkle.
He heard the muses sing louder
and he painted, painted, painted.
When he was done,
the dawn brought the morning sun.
She could have been there,
any moment stepping out of the canvas.
It was the masterpiece,
he had long wanted to paint.
Now he was done,
a last sip of wine.
He sat and stared at her lovely face,
his heart aching,
knowing she was gone forevermore
and tears misted his eyes.
His friend came round in the morning,
to see how he was getting on.
He found the painting
and it took his breath away.
Then he saw his friend,
he’d simply faded away.
With a smile upon his face,
now cradled in the arms of his muses,
his soul floated away,
his masterpiece making him immortal.
Some would say,
that when the painting was on display,
somewhere in the crowds,
they’d seen the mystery woman –
who had broken the artist’s heart.