Erato and Me
Why silence, Erato, old friend,
Is there a thought you wish to transcend
You call me a poet, how can that be
For my quill be a twig and parchment a tree
I paint of morning, my hopes lie ahead
My words unsure, I merely sense my tread
Yet, Erato, you say rhyme will give fire
Rendering visions with the brush of desire
May canvas be my yearn, verse my plea
That passions of life e'er be ardent in me
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
