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Published in Poetry Junction

I am nothing less than you,
my audience, the litophile muse,
and lover of Hestia’s hunger
To bear those laurels bewondered
is your noble course and due
So walk on, lady of darling virtue,
let your virginal garb flee unhindered
and your worldly feet trod the cinders
from which my body burns so true
as Apollo’s toil perpetually renewed,
perpetually renewed
..
The Pillars of Heracles have tumbled,
and Rhodes Colossus does fade,
while the pyramids stony peak is dulled
by Chronos' rigors, Rheas birthing pains
.
(All old wonders were struck by lightning)
.
Yet, while your Vestal flame may wane,
and all mens mountains grind to sand
one thing I shall proclaim as constant,
as temperate as birth or death, love and hate
is my eternal and infinite devotion
.
I am not the hero, for they are monsters
to other lands and reasons of man
All my devices are of the artist, as Pindar,
Plato, Herodotus, or Homer were,
for it is their words that make heros
of monsters and the vice of each verse