an invocation
18 October 2007
What am I but one babe who dribbles ink,
And whines to suckle from the Muse’s breast.
That being nourished on milk and lampblack,
I may attest to mankind’s Olymp’n
Conflict—of siblings in civil discord.
Here like, Sisyphus, am I blessed with stone
To muscle; having told that the eagle
Flies. And, now, am i cursed to heave pen o’er
Paper in some perpetual labor.
Plane my prominence, O Muse, but exalt
This stylus hand for Your loft’ness’ sake.
And give to me Thy hand to walk with me a while.
26 January 2008 at 12:35 am
beautiful.