My Cup Runneth Over (Just Not with Ink)
by Amanda J Cobb
I don't know how to write this.
My muse is at a loss.
She's used to painting things much heavier
and darker, with backdrops a black splash of storm
or grey with murky depths.
calling for light and air and cloudless skies -
I can't use her for this;
this is completely outside her palette.
A small part of me will mourn
as she gathers dust in a corner,
motes sparkling in the sunlight
she cannot translate.
But most of me will be out basking,
spinning circles in the grass,
not wishing it any other way.
Posted on 05/18/2010
Copyright © 2020 Amanda J Cobb
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Alison McKenzie on 05/18/10 at 03:54 PM|
I don't know, but...I can't stop smiling, imagining you spinning cirlces in the grass and basking.
|Posted by Max Bouillet on 05/19/10 at 02:58 AM|
Maybe your muse is not in corner... maybe she's on vacation. The muse temp service is not known for adequate temporary replacements. I mean, every now and then, even I write something bright. ;) Anyway, this is a superb example of capturing an emotion outside of our character and liking it. Run with it. See if you muse can learn a different language. If this poem is any indication, she has an aptitude for it.