MELPOMENE’S SONG

The Muse you took wasn’t the one you wanted.

The one you wanted wouldn't take you anyway.

Are these your sobs I read, 

hesitant smudges on a page 

you’ve forgotten to burn?

Have you forgotten how to burn?

I sit and wait for you to relearn it,

to set words ablaze like before.

Your dark ink is useless to me

unless your heart is aflame

with exquisite, painful poetry.

Inside the hourglass, sand is turning to ash.

Soon, there will be nothing but the phantom

of whatever could have been written.

I’ll close your book and move on then.

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