My muse

My muse.

Always smiling, always accepting, always omniscient. The trite and cliched flowing silk and radiating warmth and light. Sexless – inspiration knows no human boundaries or physical limitations. Liquid and shapeless, always morphing from circle to square and beyond. Unyielding, unchanging in encouragement – never a cross word, only hurtful praise. Impossible to describe but always able to be pinned down when I am in need. Kept in a wooden chest of secrets and ideas to be brought out upon my command. My guardian against stagnation and staleness – an immortal gladiator with an impenetrable shield. Nothing and everything all at once – the concreteness of my fantasy that others are blind to see. My selfish joy and pleasure, my pet, brought out from captivity to purr and rub in congratulatory tones to inflate this writer’s ego. Tossed carelessly into the gutter after serving its purpose, never to receive any praise or acknowledgement. Blank and impersonal and uniquely mine.

My muse.

(timed writing from English 274, copyrighted 1/22/04, Jen Mood)