Ode to the voices (Who some call God but I call Calliope)
By Lisa Solomon
Here they come again –
Apollo followed by his nine!
Just like a long lost friend,
there since time out of mind.
when no one was by my side,
when the world was cold and cruel.
Every unspoken word was now heard,
everything that was wrong became right,
and I was no longer society’s fool.
But I told someone about it,
and then all I believed was no longer true. It was all in my head. I was sick.
So I trusted those who I thought knew.
That I was no Homer
who would pray to Apollo and his nine,
that I was no Charles Dickens
deep in conversation with his characters.
That I was no genius who would transcend time.
I was common. Just like the backyard chicken.
And here you are once more,
despite the daily intake of pills.
Not quite as clear as before
but I can feel you here still.
I know now that I shouldn’t listen
to everything you say to me,
as you don’t always have good intentions.
Yet, without you, this would not have been written
as with many other pieces that are full of beauty.
But now I do have that bridge, hanging in suspension.
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