Of
the three I had no place -
not
even of the least -
sat
at the back preparing my hands
for
the leather kiss of failure.
I
loved the words, could hear the ring
of
the metal, the smell of leather and dust.
My
feet travelled their world
of
mountains, straight streets and wars.
I
fought elephants and failed
time
and again
to
conjugate the correct path.
I
placed my hand in the fire,
leap
from the bridge,
fought
the spartan, found the pass,
entered
the cavern
and
sought the Delphic Oracle
but
never reached the shore
of
understanding the language -
then
these years later, I confess, failure
hangs
like a slash between syllables,
the
journey eludes still.
I
think the trick is to utter the thought
and
accept
I
am none the wiser
only
that sometimes the Muse whispers
and
for a fleeting moment her sound
is
understood.
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