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The Twilight’s Love Lost
By Parisianne Modert
How could I dare, being mere mortal, fall in love with and profane a daughter of Zeus? Did her muse magic draw me to her sad exile story as much as her birthing my poetic artistry?
Shall I tell you her name was Thalia of comedy and theatrical mask? Shall I call out her name as Erato of love, poetry and eros slinging arrows from her bow? Better yet, would Polymnia lyre player of hymns closer describe her? Was she more the music and justice of Calliope or the tragedy of Melpomene? Should I tell you that she was Ourania’s birth of a million stars through the telescope lens of my mind? May I confess to you that she danced through my psyche as Terpsichore or that her voice was worthy of Euterpe? Shall I praise her heroic history and name her Clio? Could even Zeus, the King god of Mt. Olympus, encapsulate her in lightning strikes? Zeus and Titanide are silent as their twilight from unfaithful humans such as I, but I have been shown her side of his clouded, closed gates by their Earth-bondaged daughter of charades.
What lucid dream of fantasy could conjure, birth or gestalt such a tortured muse of nine beats to her measured soul sounded out as a melodic fusion of Schoenberg, Stravinsky and Sting? Who misguided her faith with oppressive, religious society rules, denying her freedoms of Olympian spirit? Who abused this goddess’s playful innocence in this cruel mortal world?
What human is worthy of her given graces? Why did she choose to pour her affectionate gifts on me? When did I falsely fall in love with her impossible return? Why did I exaggerate her praise while becoming too arrogant and insensitive; while misunderstanding her family plights past and present? What emotional irrationality did I act out, knowing she could not fall in love with me, but needed a confidential friend? How could I fail her, letting my lips betray her last offered test to regain trust in me?
My shameful wrongs became exposed by her white-gloved-angel mother who softly brushed my cheek after my tearful repentance. This precious, love lost muse was correct to block my flawed behaviors.
Should anyone pity me?
I deserved her closing of Mt. Olympus’s gates to me, due to my lack of honoring her truths.
Still I plea forgivence. Is there any mending left as reconsecration? Shall the twilight from her heart towards mine be eternal?
I have surrendered my dignity by falling Earthward from her clouded, gods’ pantheon. By letting go, I have been harkened by messenger angels, relighting my childhood innocence. Christmas angels have blessed me with a lighted orb casting out all my darknesses of remorse, unrequited obsessions. I wish only to heal others who still linger from love lost.
Shall I ever deny the inspirations, metamorphosis and kindnesses gifted by this sacred muse?
My love for her has become selfless, praying that she reopens her own twilight closings.