The Giver

One of the nine,
One of the great,
One of the daughters of Zeus.
One of the voices,
One of the sources,
One of the inspirations you use.
One of the givers,
Of the gifts,
For which you so desperately long.
I have the power,
I have the strength,
I am the mother of song.
Poets and Bards answer to me
They cannot gain their own creativity!
I am the one,
The one they all need.

When Alcinous orders him to sing as the the spirit stirs,
The bard calls, “Euterpe!”
“Please, bless me with inspiration!”
And with a mere wave of my finger,
The light is cast upon him,

Tales of Troy begin to flow from his lips,
They bring him a silver-studded chair,
Wine and bread to keep company,
I pluck his vocal chords like a lyre,
The notes he sings transform into stories,
I listen in silence as he evokes tears,
This bard of mine, spreading sorrow and cheer.

I attend his concert from across the room-
Turning green and red as I hear the tune-
Yet again he speaks of ‘Great’ Odysseus and Achilles-their little strife from land to sea
I am sick of this tale!
So tired of it!
Each lyric hacks at my sanity!
Day and night I hear of these men.
Which one is it this time?
Zeus,
Hercules,
Maybe Theseus to mix it up?
What a waste of my great gift!
What is the point of my generosity?

I want to tick
Throw a tantrum
And howl
To grow big
and strong
and scream
These fools do not know how to create!
All they can do is echo
echo
Echo
ECHO

Alas,

I am to sit here in silence, restraining my refute.
For these are the heroes whose stories will be told, the men who inspire honor and kleos.

I am no hero.
I know, I do not bring fear or respect in people’s hearts.
All I can do,
Is give them my mere gift.

I wonder, if they will ever sing of me-
Or if I ever get to sing a song of my own-
Am I forever bound to be the source of another’s prose?
Like the farmer that pours water into the roots of her trees,
anticipating the fruit they will grow,
I give my artistry to the poets and singers,
to reap their unique sonnets.

“Euterpe,”they call!
“Please, bless me with inspiration!”
Time and time again, I do.
Time and time again, I’m disappointed.

I yawn at their verses, their repeating tall tales.
Someday I will be the painter and not the paint,
The tree and not the farmer,
The knight, rather than the suit of armor.
But until my dream comes true, I will continue to wait,
For a song that finally resonates…