Oh, come to me, dear music god
At times striking a Pan flute
Then rejecting and toiling
Its perverse dirty-mouthed kindle
Then swear by each finger,
A man with sea serpent claws
And sanctity at his knees
Each daily course upturned to night
Learning to climb trees and oscillate
And whirlwind spin upon the branches
As autumn becomes winter
And he, the only life within the trees,
Dare sit and adore a supposed lovely maiden
And turn his head to tell her tale
Lest his secret go before him,
And he swears them upon
The inches of the cross engraved on willows,
And onlookers and lesser beings obey
For their hailed music king
Then mark them all with such a burden
In a hushed reprise for the kingdom
They faithfully return
Along the backwoods in his wake
And sonorous squeals of a beauteous
Black and silver beast created by man
And wielded for lulling to sleep
Or taming such uncertain fragile hearts
And for what cause
Should this prowling musician,
Renowned as the keeper of souls,
And the namesake of honor
Be so bereft of self and composure?
But lo, a lady scribing composition
On creamy pages from ribbon red binding
As it is said she came beyond and among rivers
To alter the courses of the words soon to declare
On her rock so licked with smudges
Of impatient water awaiting their chance
To meet the quiet dame and be her muse,
And she soothes and comforts arboreal creatures
And forest dwellers to kneel without fear,
This unknown attraction bounding from
Above in skyward trees
Given a splendor by way of light
Dearest god of music almost blinded
By a sensation and the fixation of his gentle eyes
On but one maiden for hours in the day,
Yet disregarding such duties, he sees the birds preen
Without remorse on the lovely lady’s fingers,
But hesitation waits on the soft curves
Of the maiden’s shoulders, her wrists skipping
To tame and compose a word
Such intelligence, such grace!
What a flaw he’s found in himself
To be so shattered by the damsel
Beneath his yearly tree where hearts
Are so conquered in his dexterous way
With the fluttering of his hands;
Yes, her hands flutter!
But flutter they do like nothing of his caliber,
As he ponders her taste in music
As for subjects, he confides deeply
For even in the rush of crowds
In the vastness of a kingdom
And opulent lands
They bow to him and give their prayers;
A savior of the people, as kind as his blackened
Onyx hair touches to his lashes when he plays
A god, lonely in wait
And perhaps a damsel a goddess tonight
Charming his sights as she stays alight
In the reaching moon;
And before pale blue grew sickly
Into purples and the deepness of dark,
Music sounded in the verdant forest’s core,
The book she held so cautiously to be given
To his pronounced notes as he leaped from
His generous tree
For he gave his skill to be her eternity,
And the writings bursting from her soul
Were given up to the flames of a feral heart
And they lavished in the art of their hand
No more a secret: together until earth did them away
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