When Muses Rule

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,

inspiring him.

It was as if he could see them,

she never understood,

she only knew that deep in the night,

when she was tired,

lying awake,

he was till singing,

drinking wine

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.

Rasma Raisters

I am a poet and writer. I write for many different sites online. I have two published books of poems on Amazon - Poetic Thoughts Fly and On the Wings of Love.

Latest posts by Rasma Raisters (see all)

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail

Rasma Raisters

I am a poet and writer. I write for many different sites online. I have two published books of poems on Amazon - Poetic Thoughts Fly and On the Wings of Love.

13 thoughts on “When Muses Rule

  • September 30, 2016 at 7:11 AM
    Permalink

    Oh how sad yet beautiful, like an ancient Greek tragedy. Very well done, Jerry. I love this verse.

    It is good to see you here again.

    Reply
  • September 30, 2016 at 12:42 PM
    Permalink

    Hi Rasma,

    I think you created a masterpiece with this one! A sad but true tale for many, I’m afraid. You summed it up nicely.

    Reply
    • October 2, 2016 at 4:04 AM
      Permalink

      Thank you William. It was inspired when I remembered from my parent’s time an immigrant artists working out of a rented basement studio in NYC in Hell’s Kitchen. My father was good friends with him and every night after a good painting session during the day friends would gather and many a glass was lifted. When everyone left he continued to paint.

      Reply
  • October 1, 2016 at 12:07 AM
    Permalink

    A lovely story, very emotive and so true of artists of any kind. Many relationships don’t last with artists, because they are driven to create; it is not a choice between a love and creation, but something one has to do. I understand that of myself. Nicely penned and rendered in poetic verse.

    Reply
  • October 3, 2016 at 2:20 AM
    Permalink

    Oh how I loved this wonderful poem, Rasma. Such a sad lost-love story, but so captivatingly beautiful.

    Reply
  • April 17, 2017 at 3:11 PM
    Permalink

    Rasma , Beautiful visions , somehow this reminds me , or at least I got the image of the movie “Pollack ” , did you see that one with Ed Harris playing the artist ?……….Check it out girl !

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

By continuing to use the site, you agree to the use of cookies. more information

Our cookie settings are set to "allow cookies" to give you the best browsing experience possible. By continuing to browse this website you are accepting our cookie policy.

Close