Something Lost

I cry

For no particular reason

Great heaving sobs shuddering through

Tied to a nebulous thread

Of dissatisfactions

I will never be someone’s muse

I will never be immortalised in oils

For future art classes to emulate en masse

Queues of tourists will not wait for hours

To see the masterstrokes of genius

Which highlight my enigmatic smile

No one will pen an ode

To my fine eyes

To my black tresses

{Now greying}

I am not the stuff of beauty

And today

This seems a travesty

So, I cry

 

 

Copyright Feb 2013

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3 thoughts on “Something Lost

  1. Such is life but you still wrote the cricket in the street story, and who else could write about a renovated brain refusing the mind re-entry. to be a muse, or to amuse that is the question…

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