Missing Muse

#10 | 31 Poems for August 2015

What’s a painter left to do when his muse is missing?
The paint doesn’t stick to the canvas like it’s supposed to.
Today he was cut deep by all the harsh words she said.
He never understood all the ludicrous games she played.
So far gone, she left with the forest that’s why he’s barely breathing.
He wanted to see her happy but couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving.
It didn’t matter how he felt, she was bound to leave anyway.
It didn’t matter what he did, she was bound to leave on any day.
What’s a painter left to do when his muse is missing?
The paint doesn’t stick to the canvas like it usually does.
Maybe they were never meant to say goodbye.
Maybe if she didn’t leave, they’d still give love another try.
He never knew how toxic she was until he got to breathe in fresh air.
He never thought such heartbreak was something that could occur to him.
The grass is greener on his side but today it needed a trim.
The world is his canvas and she will always be his muse.

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