Classical Muse

The way a strawberry sings the red song

so the world may know that it is sweet,

a unique affinity with language has led me

to this love affair with poetry.

There is an air

that its excellence brings

A certain atmosphere

like a fierce yet benevolent king.

Truth is the only virtue with gains to entertain.

Poetry is the solace in the turbulence of a storm.

It is the place to be safe, fragile, and warm,

its shade a soothing reform.

The way stick insects are fed and camouflaged by the leaves,

Creation leaves her thumbprints in her fruits.

I with poetry, or rather poetry with me,

the bearer replete with a tropical bloom.

Now, I am aware of my wings,

I know that I can fly.

I commune with the birds in the breadth of the sky.

I am immune to the words that diverge from the forest’s lullaby

My roots are among the mountains,

I converse in the tongue of the Alpine,

Pink lilies and laughing dandelions

galloping in the land of taboos and delicate butterflies.

Antelopes graze in the portrait of the serene,

peace is in the poetry.