Mother of Muses

I took what I most appreciate,
the numbness to
your aqua eyes,
what you couldn’t
feel of exhiliration,
however unwise the
results may be.

I took antisocial liberties and made you a queen, all your plastic subjects and gave them material dreams.

Lent your words some gravity so they could scream within a whisper, and splintered your kingdoms so you would learn how to breathe.

I plotted
revolution so you’d
guard your heart carefully,
surrounded you with swords for your more
daring detractors,

(and with good cause, it seems).

I gave you iron so your body would not bleed, however broken the bones may become.

And I wrote you
love, not of ever
afters but those who
hold your walls, drink
in your great hall and sing
your name until
legends recede.

You are the monarch to my mead, at the place in my head once upon a time meets the waters of peace.

I wrote you a warrior, the
heroine you
represent to
me.

And when they come for my deed, that of a seasick playwright,

ransack the corpse of a common man’s plight, to

auction a fortnight, and
bury a century away.

When they unearth you, my lady, I hope the world can read
your eyes without translation,

sovereign of
my long-dead imagination,

ocean iris queen.

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