Peot and the Mistress

On a padded throne of distant contemplation,
Welcome to the crowning of my hallucination
In my hand right the pen that speaks what is inside;
But over the throne’s rest, wishing to let go
In my left hand holding the heart I quietly hide,
A heavy hope keeps it, will she ever show?

And there, for all my sight to judge and admire
A soul that I could perhaps more than desire?
My talents tremble because of her, her alone!
Human, Muse, or something else and something more?
Craving beyond gentle flesh, the inspiring unknown.
Which ever being; is she like the ones before?

Each hand offers the loss I could never afford
All are free to claim this unusual reward;
On my busy right my Muse guides the pen I clutch
Softly singing verses any would quick to claim,
On the left a heart that longs a companion’s touch,
Concealed behind like a personal shame.

But there confronting all she softly stands and waits,
By her tender voice verses my pen creates,
Pushing the Muse to a heart’s beating silence
There behind me, away from observation,
The disparaged mistress, a forgotten presence,
Going into the darkness of recollection.

Taking the place that once belonged to another,
The force that makes a poet better than any other.
Her eyes tired of the page, she steals a glance
Curious at what I hide and keep from her hold,
Waiting to catch its form, praying for the chance,
But alas! My grip will not yield to unfold.

My unfaithful eyes, lightly wonder beyond trust
Gently finding one who is only there for lust
But still she faithfully remains, standing her ground,
Her voice so tender to the curious ear,
And yet she does not flinch or stutter at was found
Knowing this lusting one will soon disappear.

Beside me, her yearning gaze catches the hidden,
And sweet temptation comes to grasp the forbidden,
From the left she bravely challenges to take my heart,
The hand’s grip too much for her to prize away
Something I should not care for but won’t let it part
I cannot spend a hope so easily, I need its stay.

Noble are her efforts to keep fighting my grasp
Realising she cannot soften my protective clasp,
Gloom mists to darkly veil her once radiant smile
Like the darkness behind this, my crowning chair,
Pity can't let me forget her in denial
And sorely give it to not see her despair.

She may only choose one part to claim as her own,
Both portions to her possession shall not be shown,
Too bravely she went left, trying hard to claim it:
Behind me she becomes the forgotten mistress;
So another must come to inspire this poet,
A new muse, with interests she can suppress.

Jealously strikes the new muse to make her human
Demanding parity: treated as a woman;
Yet she does not understand she is something more
She demands my pen, there for her the taking?
Not its beauty, its craft I love and most adore,
But without my heart, verses aren't worth making.

Sitting poorer than any unhappy person
Yet I carry a smile for some foolish reason.
Both standing, holding the dear things I truly own
Tending to their needs like they were in my clutch,
Shortly to each darling this smiling thought was known
And now each call for both, asking for too much!

A heavy heart to my lover, a swift pen to my muse,
One man with two unequal loves he must choose:
I offer with each bare hand my only true, possession,
But both ask to clasp my palms in amorous devotion
And propose to one and only one, everything and all!
But jointly these things are unmatchable by either soul.

She surrenders my heart to the now human muse,
Who’s crowned merit I can’t allow or excuse,
Standing there, worthless compared to her priceless gain
While the other leaves, dearer than any and all,
I take what the muse, wished to selfishly attain;
To have the Other I must let these items fall.

I stride to her no longer the cautious and the private loner,
Embracing me as if I were those items and she its owner....