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My Orpheus

Smell of coffee
reaches our bedroom
in the upper floor
- dawn still awaiting
to break the dark –
while whispers of old prophets,
dancing in harmony with
Calliope´s voice
and notes of Beethoven,
fill the air
behind the close door.

Words whirl in a crazy ballet:
some rejected,
others taken,
a few doubted.
Erato smiles,
his beats increase.

Keys rhyme
among vacuous echoes
- dumb angels -
following the cadent rhythm
of his soft fingers.

Daily routine
fighting sleep and drought,
prayers for that precious spring
hidden behind evil shadows.

The early bird
sings my name
in golden light.
It´s time to finish
the struggle:
the poet has won
and musical verses
adorn the virgin paper
in hope.

Wounds will heal,
scars will last.

- Don´t look back.

With the first rays,
Zeus´s daughters
return silently
to Mount Helicon.

Clio,
in purple gown,
cannot see or hear him
in the aisle of the temple.

Day after day,
my poor poet
keeps playing his lyre for her,
her deafblind goddess.

He is my Orpheus
and he saved us
killing the snake.

Remember,
don´t look back at me…

My Orpheus

Dulcina

Cantabria, Spain

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 2

Artist's Description

The hard job of a poet.

Artwork Comments

  • TheUnknowngnome
  • Dulcina
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