According to what was said to have been the words of Mark Twain, who was Samuel Clemens, "Write what you know." that is the trick you see, I can't make things up, so I have to write what I know. But there is a twist, I can write what I know but change who it is. I can change the setting and I can change the location; I can change everything about everything as long as I am still writing what I know. When I try to be original, I get frustrated and I fail, I get tired and I stop, because it takes too much out of me; I am trying to invent things that I can't imagine.
Her long legs held my unwavering attention as they stepped one at a time from the car. The slight tear in her hosiery, allowed her alabaster skin to show, exciting my heart to skip a beat. As she bent over to extract herself from the it's interior, her long dark tresses obscured her features. An unconscious brush from her hand tucked the errant hair neatly behind her ear as she turned to face me. It was love at first sight.
Approaching My lady from the side, I first caught sight of her generous mahogany skin peaking from between the strapping of her cuisses. My heart skipped a beat to see such unblemished skin and on her thigh, but such thoughts are unbecoming for a lowly soldier of his Queen. As she leaned forward and dismounted, I lowered my yes and took a knee. I quick glance revealed her without her helm, adjusting her sweat soaked tresses before she reviewed the soldiers. My heart hammered within chest so that I feared that's she would hear and know my love for her.
His leg, covered with the skin tight Ultrex (tm) body armour seemed painted upon him. The cords of his calf muscles flexed as he walked, for all the world naked except for the micrometer thin blue material he wore. It clung tight to his buttocks as he stepped down from his Tralar (tm) hover disc, which rose reflexively as he stepped to earth to be caught with a practiced swing of his arm to double as his trademarked buckler. Blond hair flopped across his brow which he reset with a well rehearsed nod of his head. His eyes sought me out, aided with his glittering Blue (tm) eyes which sparkled from its own internal power source. Finding me was easy and he smiled warmly; dressed in my own Ultrex (tm) second skin, my erection was plain to all.
Not as tiring as trying to write something from scratch and with complete originality. Poetry for me is easiest, it is my emotions and my thoughts that I simply have to describe. Too easy actually, so I invent rules that I have to follow not rules about rhythm, but rules about which words I can use. Perhaps one day I will write a book of poems each with a hidden line to a hidden poem that writes an additional hidden poem, but can I get them published? Does it matter? Will my lady love love me back and if my lady love loves me, will I return her love? Where does love come from? Does it matter?
I will I guess write many different stories with or without my lady muse's help.
This epiphany is brought to you by Waif girl, who showed me that I could blog, and to tarnishedtypist who read my blog and thought I should write and to a colleague who told me it is my duty to write after reading my poems.
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