Ophelia's Wayward Muse

Shakespeare's heroine, from another perspective....

Ivory-sculpted woman,
Tainted muse of Circe’s jaded beauty
Hiding behind the concealed grace
Of that beautiful, cherished innocent,
One who supposedly only thought to ask
For love and honour, and faithfully practiced
Obedience, drifting toward tomorrow
Upon her impenetrable curtain of destiny.
Yet, one cannot fail to notice
The silently provocative curve of a back,
The practiced, submissive gaze
Burning within dark liquid
Eyes of fire.

Fallen angel,
Have you been so betrayed
That you are forever unable to feel?
And she, being the gilded, precious type
Who so often lost her own thoughts
Amidst the chaotic hue of her own sparkle,
Was not at all impressed by
That world’s twisted inspiration.
It is a heavy burden,
Being that a muse only ever exists
For the use of man;
And used she was,
For the beauty and longing her girlish passion inspired,
The secretly irresistible Madonna-w***e
With a spirit moved only by
Her inevitable destruction.
Oh, to be fixed in history
As something that was;
Ageless and screaming with the power
Of her own indestructibility
Through seemingly acquiescent obliteration.

Descartes comme femme;
I am,
Because I am desired.

      

Author's Note

Constructive criticism is always welcome, as is unabashed love and praise. :P

Reviews

[Emrick]

Nice poem.(if this was to come in my poetry exam id fail.i couldnt get the message right.