Sweet Calliope

Sweet Calliope

Sweet Calliope,
Desert me not now.
Where are my words
That were wont to flow.
Where is the familiar
Pressure in my chest,
Of a thousand poignant lines,
Bleeding from my heart
On to the willing page?
Where is the fledging epic
Thou fostered in my once,
The budding sonnet,
The timeless lay?
My ear strains,
To hear thy whispered words.
Yet silence.
Impregnated silence.
Thou guardian
Of wandering bards,
Why doth thou deny me!
Am I not worthy
Of thy inspiration?
Am I not an adequate vessel?
Or worser yet,
My deepest fear.
Have thou and thy maidens
Faded over time?
Did thou die with the ancients,
That invoked your names?
Do I search for that,
Which none in this...
Roman age can find?