RIP

The Ruby Muse

The Ruby Muse

I've another muse come to me,

eyes as dark as obsidian-onyx,

fair skin as silver as the dust of the moon's flesh,

hair of a raven's dark, shadowed complexity.

There are irridescent speckles of golden sun dust in her eyes,

lighting about her face like fireflies.

Wings of black flames rise behind her,

luminescent blazes of crimson fire burn beneath her.

She is a dark muse,

encouraging nightmares,

somehow beautiful and lovely

in her deathly visage.

Here, she draws shadows around us,

tucking us uncomfortably

in the errie and irritable silence

of Night.

Were there ever as ruby lips as hers?

Seeming of blood, as though she drinks of us?

This muse is a dark muse.

She feeds on our nightmares,

and we feed on her terrible inspirations,

insanity,

and tragedy and loss,

feeding on terror,

and death.

3.28.08