Muse
The greatest art never sees the light of day. These are poems I wrote which were inspired by Muse.
"Cinderella Queen"
by Sardonic Poet
Cinderella Queen is a domesticated Muse, rules with a mop (not a scepter), a peasant’s prop.
Paupers pound their heedless fists, demanding the Queen slit her wrists.
Bake us pudding, with your regal tang, thick as carpet, culinary slang.
Cinderella Queen rules the kitchen’s cuisine, blood pudding flows like a crimson ravine.
All you inspire is to resent what paupers admire, a Queen that cooks her blood, above Satan’s fire.
Forearms charred, baking blood, squeezing her veins, spewing pickled mud.
Cinderella Queens are domesticated Muse, freakish sirens are unwelcome moos.
Feed your brood, to repent the sins you’ve accrued.
Reading required
Use your imagination
Muse #1Love is withdrawal like a drug you can’t refuse,
Thoughts are anguish with a motive to confuse, Scarlet hair like fire, eyes like vicious claps of blinking hues, Some say she is a witch, I say she is a muse. Ignorance is bliss, my sanity I’m happy to lose, She shies away from compliments and her generosity abused, By those who are selfish, cowardly ooze. I want to be significant in her life; I must follow the clues, I must win her trust; I must pay my dues, For I’m in love with inspiration, the author of my lit fuse. We will never be together, my ego eternally bruised, However, I will not leave; it’s not a choice I can choose. To inspire inspiration is a challenge I can’t refuse, I’ll carve it into my bones like bloody tattoos, I’m in love with a shadow that illuminates my views. Let me paint you a picture with words verbose, Vinegar is sweet; sand is silk; I have the antidote to your troubles, A suitable dose. John . . . your fantasy with me is a dead end, so the solution is to live your life in reality. Wake up. — Muse. Muse #3All I want to do is love broken women; they are my muse.
I love your flaws, my heart is amused, by the dread you suffer, believing your worth is bruised. The abuse is obtuse, compassion begs for a truce, will this rhyme loosen your noose? My mind is a curious frontier; love is fright disguised as cheer. We will never meet, isolation is my queue, lust blinds love, so I will be gay for you. My mind has surrendered, morality is shorn, thorns of plenty rape sanity's scorn. I lust like a pig, and think like a goat, I give like a cow, I grow like an oat. Lust is love without morality, isn’t that clever? If you fall for my mind, I will be your fruitless endeavour. Welcome, I am a Sardonic Poet (Satan's Cigarette). I know precisely why you reject God. You resent pain. Muse #6I don’t mind if you stare.
Little do you know, with mischievous deceit, the novelty of life, is a mother’s teat. I love how you stare, with that lurid despair, I smile like I’m focused on nothing rare. Wow, it’s hard to understand, the power of comfort, is at my command. I think I see, what draws men to this pair, I don’t mind if they stare. There. Muse #8The Thrill of Glee
My smile is a cage, to keep demons at bay, they scratch at my teeth, listening to my children play. My cheeks are bosoms, to remarkable eyes, portals to imagination, attention is my prize. Stuffing themselves on my generous heart, to me I’m a person, to them…a tantric tart. What is the thrill of glee? My smile is a cage, to those who did this to me. My children are safe, because behind my teeth, scratches upon scratches, reveal no hidden hatches. My smiles are my enemy’s exile. My heart is a tantric tart, that’s the thrill of glee, my children benefit from my demon’s misery. Muse #11Prada Purgatory
Counterfeit skin, bathed in lace, selling goods, unrelenting pace. Clothing is key, to survive eternity, when I undress myself, free-will volunteers to flee. There is no light, there is no time, there is no age, there is no correspondence of sound between words or the endings of words. I stare into a vacuum, compelling me to pose, my dignity for sale, as my body fills these clothes. I’ve been told my voice, is melodic and serene, a wake that soothes, a compulsive routine. My apartment is my nest, not the least bit oppressed; humility is my quest, as I dwell under house-arrest. I’m undressed like a manikin, my smile frozen in place; I enjoy free-will, with obedient grace. Purity is my ideal, and this is my story, an eternity to enjoy, living in Prada Purgatory. Muse #13Eternal Fuse
Your body is a chariot, a consequence of the mind, an unkind heiress enshrined. Remarkable breed, I kneel as I plead, I’m forced to concede, you’re all that I need. Sexuality is a shield, a nuisance to me, your mind secretes appeal, to pervert a woman’s ideal. The mind must express, its value to the excess, it’s a game of chess, to undress with finesse. Truth be told, your mind is too bold, I can relate, artists love to create. Why? I validate you, blessed muse, culture of one, eternal fuse. Muse #15Beauty is your shadow
Your caged in skin, plucking hearts with an artificial grin, the sun retreats to bathe in your shade, the beauty owns you now, maid. Black star raining rays of tar, soaking fools with delusions dancing without rules. Beauty has a shelf-life, pickled in tears, preserving youth, your destiny is clear. Prada purgatory is a Muse’ (origin) story, time is cruelly dangling monetary glory. Share your mind, don’t be afraid, wisdom is luminous to conquer beauty’s trade. Wisdom is what Muse seek, melodic relief, rhyming shoos away your grief. Your skin is art, plucking tears from fools, your shadow falls apart because your mind is the jewel you must fuel. |
Muse #2Lust strokes the mind with gullible fantasies.
Your lucid stare is my undoing. I not want this sensation to linger, it sickens me. Damn your ravishing beauty, I do not consent! Please yield to reason...attraction is not a choice. How to express my struggling palette. Years of silence sutured shut by suffering the allure of this lust. What must I do? Levitate? Cure poverty? You break me. Lust strokes the mind with gullible fantasies. Am I gullible? AM I?! Muse #4Blood is sap,
Bark is fuel, Edible stare, Botanical jewel. Your body is naked, to match your mind, nature bows, to your hind. Muse #5Why should I travel?
The sight of my hands, stroking keys, making a living, with my expertise. My brain is stool, my eyes dribble drool, expressing my sorrow, how the day’s been cruel. My pupils suck what life can teach, the sun is a language, universal speech. Maybe I should travel, maybe I should spend, maybe I should experience every trend. A marsh mellow soul, that can fill any hole, picture by picture, is her goal. What quirks that lurk, in front of her smirk, far from work you jerk. The sight of my hands, stroking keys, making a living, with my expertise. My brain is a jewel, my eyes vomiting yule, expressing my cheer, how she has fueled this fool. Muse #7Ugly Words
Honesty is fortunate to be shackled by stigma, what matters comply with an enigma. Sensitive to touch, cuts to the bone, soars like an eagle, sinks like a stone. Awkwardness thrives when charisma retreats, sight sings confusion while your paranoia eats. Foul seed, where ugly words breed, if art is a mirror, my vanity responds to greed. Trigger my blood with your delicate grasp, of the manners that prohibit an unsought gasp. I drink your words, it’s a spicy mead, into my ears, and my dignity is finally freed. Muse #9Hazel Gin
The night is shade, a checkered seam of light you braid, what mysteries do your eyes parade? I don't know…you hide them behind a digital charade. Tender splendor, your eyes engender, an innocent offender, inspiring the reality we render. Please do not blink, you rob me of our link, pupils are the blackest ink, it swallows a hazel drink. Your body is the chalice, but your eyes are the liquor, drunk with envy makes your allergy to rejection thicker. Hazel Gin…is the grin of sin, you never smile, why the chagrin? Your eyes are linked to your smile. Muse #12Ignore me
Is that a request? Or is it a dare? It’s impossible to ignore you, I haven’t a prayer. Where do I stare? My urges flare, if this is a dare, there’s no strength to spare. Is this a request? You can’t be ignored, you have no choice, attention is a cruel reward. Is this a plea? Your tears could fill the Yangtze. Magnetism stews an erotic fee. Objectivity is the key. You are not a hypocrite, what do you expect, looking the way you do, your gifts love to infect. This is a test, to weed out the rest, I’ll oblige you my dear, has my poem left you impressed? Muse #14Sir
Benevolent scholar charting the stars, tickling the minds entombed behind bars. Rolling dunes divide the sky, sifting for kindness, desires beg to fry. Moth to flame, desires remain, no closer you trek, your benevolence is my bane. Sir…what logic you blur…the zest I stir is what all teachers prefer. |
What makes you a muse?
Let's talk. I want to document your life through the anonymity of my poetry. People who read your poetry will realize how beautiful you are without knowing what you look like. The body is a consequence of the mind; the mind is a monster. Why? Hell is in the head (biblically). If you remove the body from the equation, the mind is forced to focus on empathy. Why? It feels isolated. Within that is solitude...where there is no prospect of sexuality interfering with your value.
Through your online activity I develop an understanding of your essence. Those who step forward will be assigned a number. That number is the only link from my poetry to your essence.
You are free to use my poetry to share yourself in ways sexuality cannot.
Through your online activity I develop an understanding of your essence. Those who step forward will be assigned a number. That number is the only link from my poetry to your essence.
You are free to use my poetry to share yourself in ways sexuality cannot.
