Erato
This pain will be
The death
Of me:
Yet.
Its vibrato
Thrumming
Through my bones,
Muscles, and sinews;
Crushing bones
And
Sprit, Soul.
Till no longer
Have I
The Courage,
The Faith,
The Hope,
The Will,
To persist.
Yet,
I must.
For she calls
To me,
Her siren song
So clear.
She Calls,
Summons,
Promises,
Teases,
Tantalizes,
Provokes,
My need.
She Calls
And
I must follow.
She Calls
And
I must obey.
She Calls:
For in me
Is She
And
If I quit,
Die;
Then
So shall She.
For She
Is me
And I am
Her;
And She
Is but
The best in me,
Hidden,
Calling,
Needing me
To Champion
Her.
For She
Is my Muse;
My Erato.
And
She must speak,
And Write,
And Sing,
And
All Her glory
Claim.
So,
I persist
Despite the fears,
The pain
That sickens me,
And
Wait eagerly
To hear
Her siren voice,
Her Call;
For therein lies
Mine own
True Destiny.
– – –
Erato is the Muse of Lyric poetry.
Copyright 2009 Lyle T. Lachmuth, All Rights Reserved
