To my Muse Zane
Summary: Atticus writes a poem…the poem is read…should it be a two-shot? AxZ
A/N: Please tell me if you think it should be a two-shot. Thanks and all :
-Becky
How is his hair always perfect? Why is he so damn perfect? Why can't I just- Atticus snapped out of daydream swiftly.
"Mr Rhodes what have you written?!" Crowler shouted at him as he rounded on the brunette who was idly doodling in his book as he stared at the bluenette in the seat in front of him.
"Nothin'…" He began before covering it up when Crowler made a grab for it.
"Well then, read it." Crowler said and headed back down the steps.
"But-" Atticus began but was given a glare. Atticus sighed and looked down at his words, feeling the bluenette turn to look at him, everyone looked at him, as he stood to read.
"Told we had a muse that sat with us
Or stood when our battle was dying
I had one that left me when Poetry was love
But returned when it betrayed me, I crying.
Why was my Muse always a man of shadow?
That stood tall with bluenette raven hair
With the matching eyes of sorrow
That gave no-one a glance, a shoulder to lean on or even cared?
Why did I feel homely there in the pit of righteous wronged?
Or was the calming tune of a guitar holding me instead
Of my mothers embrace and quiet song?
He always comforted me and reminded me of someone,
Though that someone I knew not and chased.
Not knowing where I was going or even
If it was a lament or a race.
But my muse is always seated on the chair
In bright light on russet leathers, leaning forward
Arms on knees portraying calm as a human
With the window of white still behind him
Curtains rippling in unseen wind.
Though he doesn't come when I ask but I must visit
And he always is there with his rain.
He doesn't look up 'till I whisper to my muse-
"Zane...""
Atticus ended his poem and hung his head, not wanting to bring it up for he knew those eyes were watching him, with an expression he didn't want to see.
"Mr Rhodes…" Crowler began.
-PapP