It did not surprise me anymore, this struggle between holding on and letting go. It has started recently, but I had felt myself giving it more thought with every stroke. It was his doing; I wanted to scream but did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he could provoke me.
I stepped back to look at the painting.
Earlier, I was bolder in colors and the grandness of the scenes, while he taught me to add the details. The muse had become the teacher I was not ready to please. He still demanded it all.
Prompted @ Carrot Ranch [ Flash fiction Challenge in exactly 99 words – Paint ]
Dark are the curves and corners of soul, Oh words, please show up tonight; New metaphors are debating my worth Other devices of poetry are shying away, Tonight my heart seek some blank space; Hear my unsaid songs , come sit with me a while Invite your friends along , lets make a nice little post, Dreams and past , are both on table for you, Evening has arrived, please grace my home now.
dressed in black,
Poised to ignore
as well to explore
Yet of no hopes;
I imagined her tale
With each strand of hair
That frees itself
As she shakes them
Rejecting my glances
Mocking my desperate
The only name he smiled at,
the only eyes he looked for,
the very smile to flatter him,
the only girl he wished to live for –
today she remains in heart and mind,
a memory of a long-lost time.
From everything to some one special,
the transition happened without cause;
the face was never captured in photo,
it was meant to stay as a muse unknown.
Prompted @ Dverse Poetics (Image ) , OSI (transition ) , Sunday Scribblings ( whats the rest of the story )
A slave to my muses
I pursue its tantalizing form;
Her dainty features blur in my head
till they are no more than a haunting pain –
pain that wants to be inked on my mind
and be read upon by slaves of similar kinds.