Muse

Mia Winhertt

He waited for days,
Which turned into weeks,
Which turned into months
For inspiration to hit.

But alas, the muses
Were not favourable to him,
Were not ready to give him
Anything worthy at all.

So he decided
To wait some more,
To search further still,
With all his soul.

Finally, he saw her.
She was the answer.
She was the question.
Surprisingly, she was everything.

One fine day,
His heart was broken.
His beloved became
Someone else’s wife.

Even when her body shifted away,
Something of her was left behind,
Something unexpected
With him.

She became his muse,
For all seasons,
For till he lived,
He just had to recall her.

30 thoughts on “Muse”

  5. This poem touches on a classic and eternal theme: the muse as impossible love. But it does so with a modern, sober and sincere voice. It reminds us that sometimes the most fertile beauty for art is born of emptiness, of unfulfilled longing, of what was not but left its mark.

    Sincere hugs from afar.

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