In the wisdom of her lines,
The Muse Calliope, divines
A pure and breathless ask –
The soul beneath the mask,
Of words in sensual dance,
Of defences with no chance
Of holding truth at bay,
As her spirit starts to sway
Upon the breeze of sighs,
Before these unworthy eyes
In words of unkempt power,
Budding each new flower
With the primacy of female
In this cosmic fairytale,
Where I am the disciple, pale,
The servant who will regale
Her, until shallow breath does fail.

Copyright Kosmogonic 2018

Image Optiknerve-gr

9 thoughts on “Calliope

    • “My soul in lines
      Of a randomness, emerging
      Into a pattern that keeps repeating
      With my supposedly final emptiness converging
      Back to you, again, something about you defeating
      My hopelessness in the way
      That you are a constant, a star,
      Dark matter, I’m trying to say,
      Across my chest, there is a scar,
      That is part of who I am,
      And I think that you are too. “


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