Muses Need Not Mourn
I do not ask for you, oh beautiful Muse of Milton,
Rest he may in the fissures of many a searching heart
Nor do I ask of the greatest, from either Heaven’s Reign
Or below, upon the earth where the sea roars and the Wind
Promises chaotic joy adrift in the ambitious Poet’s heart
I will not compete, or clamor, or rage—or pine profusely, though perhaps a sliver—
I will never Love like lava aglow
Or hate like danger in deep current flow
I only Search with the eyes given to me—I Search for the answer,
That you may open my heart to reveal what is Truth
Whether you are a brazen muse of might
Or a genius muse most hidden,
I would only hope for a smidgen of Truth
I would only hope for courage to understand
Calling all muses to hear,
I implore, humbly—humanly,
That you not need to feel obligated to mourn for your own,
For we are not direct in Death’s limited view
That you need not mourn for even the three of which inimitable Shelley ordains light—
Of Homer,
Dante,
Nor the blind Martyr that deemed our Devil the hero!
That you mourn not even their path-dissuading followers—
The imitable challenger who drowned in a sea,
The kisser of the shore, avoider of our monstrous Wind,
Or the young genius diseased—touched by his own muse—Melancholy!
These muses need not be grief-stricken,
For their sons have crossed the barriers
And abide in the value of human renown and veracity
And as for me, I ask not of any of you
To brush upon me the might of your inspiration
I only may Seek,
That I may honor
The ideas you sprung to our best, naming but a few,
And to only hope to be deemed a Poet of—
If but a sliver - of Light
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