K is for Kalliope
Transliterated from old Greek,
Eldest and leader of the Muse
Sisters, Muse of song and
Public articulation—in other
Words, speech-delivery
She had a son, an artful maker,
Too—he was killed; and his
Mother took his remains to
Enshrine them on Lesbos, an
Ancient isle, which we might
Visit today
Were she to sing in our
Parlance and with our take
On life’s matters:
I inspire your song and speech
And go unrecognized
Most no longer believe that
Mortal skills come from a sacred
Start
I might sing again, though first
Would be the labor in mourning
For all I have lost
My boy, who was murdered
For envy or rage (I care not
Which) and whose grave
Molders in an island pit bereft
Of laurel leaves
Orpheus, as well my son,
Whose sanctioned journey into
Hell yet lost him his wife in
Petty business of Hades and
The underworld’s rule (I
Respect them not)—his life was
Left to sorrow like mine
And your interest? Why would
Gods matter to you? All
Divinity is mitigated in belief,
Mostly unexpressed, that you
Shall save yourselves—
Foolish
You will need us, still
clcouch123 
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