The Muse and the Artist- A Poem

Reclining Nude by Frank Duveneck

Reclining Nude by Frank Duveneck

She was like a flower

laid upon a casket gently.

The artist painted her dainty;

as one would depict a rose.

Her eyes fixated to the side,

as if she was gazing at something

marvelous; maybe not since they

were laced with dejection.

Her naked body was sprawled out

in a chaste (but not seductive) way.

Her breasts were like tender

little hills, her legs like

vines, searching to latch

onto a sturdy wall.


I read the caption to the left;

“Reclining Nude

By: Frank Duveneck” it said.

I questioned,” Was she

his lover? How else could he

have painted her with such

wily passion?” I found myself

desperately daydreaming

that she was because, then,

the painting and I would be

united in the way that art

is meant to reach out to

its beholder.


I was once her.  Times ago I

was stretched out gracefully

anticipating your touch; I awaited

for you to consume me and

everything I was.  I was your muse;

and you were my artist.

Together we made the most

beguiling piece of art

ever known to man.

Your hands would roam the

hills like sheep, and my

vines would grasp onto you

in need for love, in need for



But, my beloved, unlike the painting, we

are not eternal.


About themosthighhistoryguru

College student at Boston University studying psychology. Figuring life out day-by-day.

2 thoughts on “The Muse and the Artist- A Poem

  1. yasniger says:

    Reblogged this on yasniger and commented:

  2. collectivus says:

    I love the perspective you took here, writing in her place…

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