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