Help me God she whispered, He responded with a friendly shoulder she could lean on. She leaned in, exhaling with relief.
Help me God I am sad! Deep inside I wonder if I can keep going another day, the burden of loss is so heavy. He showed her how rainbows were made, and the beauty found in holding another's hand.
Help me God she sighed. He reached out through others in pain, giving her a reason to cry. She held their hands, mourned with them as they passed on to another life.
Help me God she cried! He responded with someone in greater need, she reached out to help. She knew her prayers had been answered by seeing a different perspective.
Help me God she moaned. He wrapped her in the comfort of silence brought from loneliness. She found solace in her separateness and retreated further into peace.
Help me God she said in despair! He taught her that all was not lost, hope shined through the clouds. She danced with joy, and others joined her in song.
Help me God I am afraid! I am afraid of loving again after the agony of broken dreams and forgotten promises. He gave her unconditional love with another, creating a trust she had never experienced before.
Help me God I can't feel You! My days are empty, my life a shambles. He placed His hands under her, gently holding her as she recovered from addiction, found hope and became stronger in His love.
I want you - to wrap me in your arms and hold me until tomorrow becomes yesterday.
I want you - to keep me safe from today's news as you read from a romance novel you keep by the bed.
I want you - to ride the depths of our devotion like a rowboat on a stormy sea.
I want you - to keep me safe from my own demons, let them fight with yours as we walk off into the sunset hand in hand.
I want you - to love me with a passion not bound by time or distance. I can still smell you on my skin, the taste of your tenderness so strong in my pores.
I want you - to be my champion, as I will be yours. We will slay the dragons together.
I want you - to watch as the world disappears as I gaze into the depths of your soul peeking out through your eyes.
I want you - to burn with a desire so strong the memory of our tryst ripples through your essence like lightening from a summer storm.
I want you - to whisper how much you miss me before you turn your head toward tomorrow.
I want your love, your touch, your everything inside me, beside me, always with me even when you aren't here.
Chipping away at the wall of courage, waves of insecurity reaching over to the other side. Each time the silence grows larger, and the time between breaths longer. Reaching for a life preserver to hold my head above water, drowning again and again.
Wanting to find solid ground for a moment of rest, it's in the distance just beyond reach.
Faith is failing, prayers unanswered in this moment of silence. Others watch from afar, they tried to help once but it was too heavy of a burden, I was too weak to carry it alone.
You whispered promises of a mended heart, I heard the wind over the wall. Your reluctant acceptance kept me holding on as the waves of sorrow dragged me away. I tried to tell you what I needed, my voice was still with fear. All that came out was a cry of pain - you backed up slowly leaving me reaching toward... nothing.
Crouched and cowering in fear, holding myself because no one else can. It's my burden to carry, reflected in the mirror of your face.
She glides across the room in a crimson dress, my breath catches in my throat, her very presence creates an unfurling of desire. I cannot resist her siren call, just a glance brings me to my knees begging for her inspiration. I want to fall into the depths of her soul, my longing for release overwhelming.
Our eyes meet as her dark beauty overtakes my vision, weakening my resolve. She leans close to whisper a promise of feverish prose we will create together.
She slides a finger down my arm, bringing goose bumps to my skin and a flutter to my heart. Her bewitching gaze leaves no room for defiance. I pursue her as she exits the room, reeling with infatuation.
She welcomes me into her embrace, sparks of passion heat up the pages as we create the next verse. Her presence enthralls me, her ravishing beauty leading me to extravagant heights and extended sonnets.
With a sharp intake of breath, I am under her spell. My Muse releases my virtuosity, my unbridled prose, leaving my creativity lying on the page, spent.
My journal lies forgotten beside the bed, my scripts tossed aside the edges curling from age. I have forgotten the stroke of her hand, the brush of her lips as she whispered sweet prose for my pencil to create. Our passionate tryst just a memory, a forgotten photograph of happier times.
Though I try to recreate the rapture she invoked, my prose is lacking enchantment and intrigue. My Muse brought the pages to life with her dangerous ways, her wanton presence. Without her, I am a shadow of the writer I used to be, longing for the bountiful scripts she inspired.
My days have blended into months, her scent no longer lingers on the breeze from the open window. The yearning has subsided, her memory has faded into the background of my mind. I no longer reach out to stroke her silken hair, my heart no longer skips a beat at the thought of her dulcet tones.
The breeze stirs, the pages of my journal shudder in anticipation. The curtains float away from the window, the summer breeze carries a glimpse of her perfume. My heart beats faster, I can almost feel her breath against my skin.
Ah! Is it real? Has she returned?
I feel the brush of her lips against my ear, whispering promises of forgotten ecstasy. I turn from my desk; she is standing next to me her presence captivating in it's dominance.
In my haste I stumble, falling into her arms with reckless abandon; A scorned lover forgiven. She embraces me as if she was only gone a moment, leaving me sobbing with relief. She beckons me toward the locus of my enslavement with a bewitching look in her eyes.
Again My Mistress captivates my heart and soul with a frenzy of unbridled prose.
You were the one to show me that my scars and self inflicted wounds are a beautiful diary of my life's journey. I honor myself by coloring in the lines with needles of ink on my skin.
You were the one who helped me find my happiness, hidden in the bushes beside a park bench. I had left it there years ago while searching for a lost book.
You were the one who reminded me that I created the shackles keeping me confined to the dark places of my soul. When I broke free, you applauded enthusiastically at my bravery.
You were the one who created an awareness of my beauty and grace. I had tossed them aside during my search for the proper outfit to wear on a first date.
You were the one who lead me to release my loss and sorrow and embrace a new hope filled with visions of rainbows drawn in crayon.
You were the one who showed me that solitude is more powerful than capturing a dragonfly in flight. In the silence I found my voice hidden in the space between words.
You were the one I followed into an uncertain future, the map drawn in the blood of lost innocence. I found acceptance by not holding anything back, and speaking my truth with love and pride.
You were
the one that made me realize I could carve out my sorrow and fill the
hole with self-love. I thought I needed your trust and security, I
realized I had to give this to myself first.
You were
the one that fought so hard to keep your distance, until I let go of
your hand and embraced my fear. Now I walk alone into a fairy tale
sunset designed in Hollywood.
You
were the one. Now I realize my fears were shadows created by the dark
side of the moon where eternity has claws and sharp teeth.
I don't need you anymore, I am the one.
She left in the darkness of night without a whisper or touch of her hand. The scent of her raven hair, the soft caress of her lips, her exquisite red dress the only things I remember.
The bed empty of her warmth, the sheets carelessly thrown aside the only sign of our passionate tryst. Withered rose petals littered the floor, a fading memory of happier times when we made sweet prose together. The petals turning brown along the edges, barren and parched like the void in my soul.
Her siren song of promise fading into the last sorrowful notes of a concerto in E minor as I reach out to caress her face only to find a hint of her perfume lingering on the pillow beside me.
She warned me a time would come when she would
slip away, leaving me barren of creativity, empty of inspiration. Her promise to return someday
echoing in my head like a forlorn wind wailing at the loss of life.
My journal lay forgotten, a landscape desolate and abandoned by her quickly fading memory. With a partially finished script in hand, I rise from our haven of fertile declarations to return to my desk. I search the discarded pages of desire in hopes of finding the joy hidden among the lines of text; the tattered bits of a pencil in my hand.
Not yet he said as he casually thumbed through a travel magazine he picked up at the dentist's office.
He needed time to consider the color of socks he would wear tomorrow.
Not
yet she said, as she highlighted another passage in her self help book
with the frayed edges and torn cover. She wondered how she could find
the help she needed to heal.
Not
yet he said when he forgot to call because he was at the carnival and a
clown had his phone. I had a great time at the circus he said, you should
have been there.
Not yet she said as she
sat starting at a Thank You note yet to be written, tears held at bay.
The gift wasn't what she wanted, but the knitted cat sweater was lovely.
Not yet
he said with a small smile, and promise in his eyes. He believed she
would wait until the rain came again and hope bloomed like wildflowers.
Not
yet she whispered as she fell asleep with her knees pulled up into her
chest, hugging them tightly. She had grown comfortable with being alone,
though she still wished for loving arms around her.
Not
yet he said, it will all become clear sooner than you think. It had only
been a minute in his opinion, though the calendar showed months had
passed.
Not yet she said as she stopped reaching and stood still. She was tired, and looked forward to an afternoon nap.
Not
yet he said as he waved from the ferry leaving the dock.
Not yet she
yelled, as a two-bit thief tore her heart from her hands and threw it in
the trash after clearing out the memories hidden in the side pocket. She retrieved her heart from the trash and walked back to the train station.
Not yet she said after she found her courage in a box on the top shelf of her closet.
Not yet he said, she didn't hear him.
Ah! Such a dangerous beauty My Muse, My Mistress!
As she approaches me, her stride speaks of a boldness born from experience. She cannot be denied, she binds me to her will.
Each swell and arch of her body a narration of passion and desire wrapped in a crimson dress. Every dangerous curve a story of dominance created to demand obedience at any cost.
Her raven black hair softly
frames her face and falls over her shoulders in waves of submission. It
curls around her breasts with lustful abandon, cupping each curve and caressing her back with a sensual touch, promising merciful
surrender.
Her smoldering eyes draw me into her spell with a glance. She sees into my soul, expressing my deepest desires with just a fleeting look. As her eyes pierce through my self-restraint, all is lost.
She pulls me into her arms, her perfume wafting around me like tendrils of mist. As she whispers of forbidden desires, I become weak with yearning, besotted with lust.
She leads me away, a willing partner in her depravity. I submit to her demands, transcribing the truths only she can engrave on my soul. Her iron will permeates each rise and fall of her chest, determined and strong as I compose sonnets to her beauty.
I hear her calling, the siren song of promise and conquest. Again and again I turn away from her embrace, reaching for freedom; a long lost choice. I try to deny my own nature, running from her, my destiny. Then she calls, I answer.
I am not worthy of her love, of her approval. I am not worthy of her desire. I cannot deny her - she takes my breath away leaving me helpless in her presence. Undeniable in her treacherous beauty, she fuels my passion for her approval.
I try to resist her indisputable temptation. I try to ignore her heady perfume. She brings me closer and closer - calling, calling me.
We embrace, we dance, we dive into the depths of depravity; releasing a vision of inspiration, love lost, love consumed.
I immerse myself in forgetfulness with the hope of returning to a time when I wasn't enslaved by her spell. She
brushes away my tears and holds me close until the fear has passed.
She is my only vision - such a vision she is! Dangerous beauty with an iron will. I cannot escape who I am, who I will become.
She is my calling - she is my Muse, My Mistress.
Our eyes meet, our souls touch and my heart flutters with joy. She weaves me into her web, binding me to her will. She whispers urgently, building the rapture with each breath. I am enthralled; I am at her whim.
My Muse, My Mistress - I yearn to be in your loving embrace!
We join together in creative worship, gazing into each others eyes as we mount each summit. She seduces me at each turn of the page, keeping me under her spell. Giving and taking, she guides my hand with grace and purpose. She brings me so close, then subsides.
Her desire ignites an unbridled passion; creating fantasy with prose. Her iron will keeps me enslaved; only seeing her beauty as I write each line.
She shows me the many ways to please her, keeping our story going until dawn. Our intercourse crescendos in the final chapter, bringing a satisfied culmination of our mutual affection. I fall back, drained of energy, besotted with our tryst. We lay together in shared satisfaction; exploring the artistry we have created.
She smiles, she sighs - until next time my love, until next time.
Copyright © 2015, Sandra J Oliver. All rights reserved
You come into my life with a whispered promise, sweeping me off my feet. Your perfume overwhelms me, your desire buries me deeply in your spell. At first I am unsure; would you stay true, could we make beautiful art together? You tempt and please, you cajole and tease. I fall for you as if we are to be together forever.
You are a harsh mistress; my muse. You demand so much when we are together, and leave me alone with no warning. Just as I give you my soul, you turn your back and walk away.
I cry! I weep! What have I done that you leave me desolate? Without you I am nothing, I cannot write, I cannot breathe. You are my inspiration, you are my motivation. Without you, I am just an empty shell barren of inspiration.
Sometimes days stretch into weeks without a word. I am heart broken at your betrayal. What can I do to entice you back? I promise to listen better, I subjugate myself to your will.
My life is to please you, only you make me complete.
Just when I feel that you have left me forever; you touch my cheek, you stroke my hair. You demand my complete submission; the punishment for less, too much to bear.
Copyright © 2015, Sandra J Oliver. All rights reserved
She came into my life with a glance, a whisper and a red dress.
We met years ago at a party, she was standing in a crowd with a glass of wine in her hand. Looking so elegant, calm - strangely dangerous...
Our eyes met as I drifted in her direction, drawn in by her beauty and mysterious demeanor. We exchanged a cordial greeting, I reached out to touch her hand. We talked long into the night about everything - and nothing at all.
She told me of adventures we could discover, beauty we could create. I believed; I had found my muse. Promises were made, dreams were created. I dove into my writing with a compulsion and desire unbridled by fear, reflecting my life's story for all to see.
We bonded, we created, we wrote into the night. The adventures we shared, the broken dreams we brought to light. We drank our desire, reeling from the perfume of success.
Alas, My muse, she is a harsh mistress, she demands attention
with a iron will that cannot be denied. If I refuse her company, she
whispers to me, calling me until I respond.
My muse, my mistress calls to me with the siren song of promise, pulls me into her web of desire. I
inhale her sweet perfume as we greet each other, diving down into the
depths of lost love, unbidden desire and broken dreams. She holds me
under, drowning with wave upon wave of written reflection. When I
break free, the loss is too great to bear, even if the creation is
finished.
She is a fickle one; my muse, my mistress.
When she grips my soul and renders me helpless, I can only surrender to her wishes and bow my head in submission to her whim. She sometimes grabs me by the hair and drags me away to create that sorcery only she can entice from me.
When she is gone, the emptiness consumes me and I wish for her harsh demands.
At times she is like a ghost, I cannot touch her at all. I am desolate and alone, without direction or cause. I wail and weep, I hold my breath with anticipation of her return. I cannot think, I cannot write - I cannot create the beauty she brings.
OH! My muse, my Mistress! What have I done that you deny me? I would suffer any injustice to endure your company - just another moment, just another rumination written down. I
would willingly sell my soul to bid your return.
Then - AH! She drifts back into the room, as if she never left; and whispers of the newest adventure we must create.
Copyright © 2015, Sandra J Oliver. All rights reserved
