To the God of Poetry
To the God of Poetry
Reclining now, I beg of thee!
But one fervent wish....
That from my pen always flows,
My very heart, my blood and my
very living soul.
Thou art not happy with a shopping list!
Nor, when in frustration, I have
nothing to say?
So I pull any words from the poetry
sphere, just to pen a poem quickly.
To have others think I am such a seer!
There, tragically upon the parchment
no part of Panagiota is.
Just a counterfeit lie, empty words
And my tears.
Stir in me, the artistry of Virgil!
Stop me now from impressing my
poet-fellows,
With the fewest words I can find.
and murder the English language,
My pen thus a dagger be!
My life far too abundant has
been blessed, than...
To lie like a harlot on any poet's desk
to be cheaply read in hastiness.
Just to be part of the reckless
poet fold....
Best for me, in shame to hide,
Or drown in a forthcoming tide!
Please, oh please, God of Poetry,
Upon my hand, your loving hand
to forever rest.
Remind me whom I serve, 'tis you,
not men.
I am committed to you, and you
alone fully, as doth a lover be.
Not to tickle or cheat another of
the universe nor the total me!
Forever with respect and love
Panagiota
5/6/2019
10:30pm PST
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