I was once the Poet's Lady
The tragic vision of the fallen
Unobtainable to men and understanding
A woman worthy of reflection
The Poet's muse of pain and sorrow
How they longed to hold me in prose
Sing me from the bars of my self imposed prison
Seeing me as Shakespeare's idolistic Othello
And a cause for lovely words

There was no truth
Only the oily tear stained canvas
Finding grace in flawed brush strokes
Losing themselves in the blended hues and colour
And drugged aesthetic dreams
To wash upon acrylic beaches
And stare into their violet skies
With a sigh and my name on their lips

I used to be the Poet's Lady...

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