If I was having coffee with you, today, right this minute I would tell you that of all the things in the world, I’d really love to meet my muse’s muse.
I want to meet that man or woman that leaves souls so vulnerable that authors hold no qualms about pouring out their essence onto a page. I want to meet the inspiration behind the literary paintings that enable my favorite authors to pull at my heart strings. I want to sit down to coffee with my muse’s muse. (no offense)
As we make our order, temporarily distracted by a hunger for a hot beverage and a sweet confection, I would liken this craving to my desire to see past the artist to the muse.
Some writers write in such a way as to make YOU the focal point of their piece. They appeal to your imagination and emotion in such a way that you feel you are the muse in question.
Today I read a few pieces that made my heart beat. Let me explain. Any other time I would have said that it skipped a beat, but this time it just beat. His writing (he’s a he) made me feel alive. I remembered what it’s like to feel. I can only wish that he was here having coffee so I could tell him face to face, but I do hope that he reads this because I describe his writing thus:
“Your words are making out with my soul,
Teasing and tempting,
And loving me.
They knock on my hearts door
Then set up camp there.
p.s I want to write like you when I grow up.”
His words remind me that it’s ok to be human, and that feeling is what makes us who we are. I wish more people could read his work and thus be privy to more of his beautiful soul. I for one I’m thankful that I get to see sneak peeks of it.
The way his words spoke to me reminds me of a young man that was part of the Romantics era in history. He garnered such a reputation as the most notorious and flamboyant of his time; one Lord Byron.
If there’s a person’s muse I’d love to meet, it would his. Especially she who inspired ‘She Walks In Beauty’.
She Walks in Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
He paints such a picture of perfection that you can almost fit in his shoes, falling for his muse and longing wistfully for the soul in who’s aspect and eyes all that is best of dark and bright meet. How could you not want to sit with such a beauty and ask if she’s aware of the turmoil she raises in the poet? I would like to know how, if ever she read it, she felt to be spoken of thus. I would seek to inquire whether she responded kindly to expressions of love embedded in his words or merely cast him off as nonsensical and not given him the time of day.
As you sip your coffee or tea or whatever is floating your boat really at this point, i would ask you how you enjoy these little trips to the coffee shops. Do you enjoy them? You keep coming back so I assume you’ll relate when I tell you that there are wordsmiths out there who I can’t get enough of; such as the English Romantics.
With writers like Byron, John Keats and indeed Percy Byssche Shelley how can one not fall in love with words? Many a writer I’ve come across that has left an imprint on my soul and if ever one should fill the same about my writings it would be the greatest compliment a writer could receive.
To the many writers that I simply cannot list, be content in knowing that:
I WANT TO KNOW YOUR MUSE
I want to know your muse,
to find the person who touched your heart,
who fought your soul,
who made your words.
I want to know your muse,
to find the one who changed your life
who gave you life
who healed your scars.
I want to know your muse,
to find the one who beat me to it,
who came before
who sang first song.
