The Poet and The Muse
There's an old town
Wrought with mystery of Tom
The poet and his muse
And the magic lake
Which gave a life to the
Words the poet used
It was a small town, really. Hidden deep within the forest, people didn't even know about it's existence. Every Easter, people of the village would abandon their daily activities and would tell each other stories. The most popular one was the one grandmother Aya would tell. It was the legend about the poet and his muse who lived in that great mansion, just above the lake, at the top of the cliff. It happened over 50 years ago and grandmother Aya was then a young girl. The poet, Tom, was a wealthy young man, honest and a dreamer. He would find wonder in the most peculiar things, and people thought him a little weird. But still he was loved by everyone in the village. His muse, his wife, Anastasia was a beautiful girl. Hair like silver, eyes as purple as the early morning sky, skin made of porcelain. She was a curious little thing, caught up in her own world of adventures and hidden treasures. She used to go down by the lake at dawn and dream of thing beyond. The dark ended lake surrounded by the old forest trees, sky painted in hundreds shades of purple, pink and yellow, and a young beauty, a nymph, alluring everything. It was easy to see the beauty, the inspiration in Toms poems.
Now the muse,
She was his happiness
And he rhymed about her grace
And told her stories of treasures
Deep beneath the blackened waves
Tom and Anastasia lived happily and they were a great example of a perfect mirage. Even though they were in mirage, they would constantly flirt with one another, the chaise of getting the woman he loved, and the gentle courting, the small poems beneath her pillow, in her books, the rhymes about her beauty and grace, making sure they were never bored. Sometimes, on quiet nights, they would go out and watch the stars. Sometimes, Tom would told Anastasia stories about treasures, hidden deep beneath the lake. For him, world was an mystery, just waiting to be uncovered. He saw adventures everywhere, and seemed to have a story for everything. Anastasia would always listen to his stories, memorizing them, and living them in her minds eye.
'Till in the stillness of one dawn
Still in it's mystic crown
The muse she went down to the lake
And in it waves she drowned
But happily every after it was not, for the muse's curious nature made her go into the lake, feel the cold waves caress her skin, and like a possessive lover, hold her tight in the strong embrace, as punishment for trying to uncover its mysteries, never letting her go, as reward, giving her a cold kiss, invading her mouth, her whole being, and then taking her down, deep into its core, to be the greatest treasure of them all.
The poet came down to the lake
To call out to his dear
When there was no answer he was overcome
He searched in vain
For his treasure lost
And too soon the night would fall
And only his own echo would wail back
At his call
Tom finished another poem of his dear, and went down to the lake to show it to her. It was a beautiful poem, where she was his angel, and he wanted to recitate it in her ear, as the sun shines on them. But he could not, for only his own echo answered his call. He searched in despair the whole town and forest, he searched the lake but the waves would push him out, jealously protecting what is theirs now.
And when he swore to bring back his love
By stories he'd create
Nightmares shifted in their sleep
In the darkness of the lake
When he realized his wife to be gone, he swore to keep her alive by the stories he would write. But he couldn't for his nights were filled of terrors, the lake taking his wife over and over again, and the days were filled with agony, the pain of lost love, so that no story was good enough to bring back his muse. So he went to the seers, the witches and people of magic, and prayed on his knees for help. They all answered the same:
"And now to see your love set free
You'll need the witches cabin key
Find the lady of the light gone
Mad with the night
That's how you reshape destiny."
And the poet heed their words, and went on his quest. He was gone for months, no one knew where he was, and what he had done, but when he came back, people could hardy believe that he's the same man. He looked old, he lost weight, and there was a certain kind of darkness and pain in his eyes that made you wanna cry.
In the dead of night
She came to him with darkness in her eyes
Wearing a mourning gown
Sweet words as her disguise
He took her in without a word
For he saw his grave mistake
And vowed them both to silence
Deep beneath the lake
Back at his home, Tom waited in fear of the things to come. When the clock showed midnight, a gentle knock was herd at his door. He jumped up and opened, expecting to see his love. And indeed, there she was, but it wasn't really her, for her eyes were black and endless, her gown black, her words deceiving, emotionless. When he tried to touch her she disappeared, only to reappear again, like an illusion, a ghost she is. Tom took her in in silence, for he realized his mistake. For a couple of moments he just looked at her, and then he started writing. He wrote frantically, like he was possessed, and when he was done, he exhaled. The book he wrote is know in the world as the saddest, darkest, yet the most beautiful one ever. It was divine. And when it was minutes before the down, he took Anastasia s hand and went down to the lake. They walked in together, and this time the lake embraced them both, their eternal love something to be cherished only by the worthy ones.
Now is it real or just a dream,
One mystery remains
For it is said on moonless nights
They may still haunt this place
And grandmother Aya would they say, on the night when the moon is gone, she looks towards the lake and sees the two lovers gliding across the surface, white and light as the moon, they kiss and smile, and only when the sun comes up they go back in the waters, the lake now their shelter.