I played with the power
to make one's fate,
and yet felt fear at what I held.
A sleeping god lay dormant.
Truth, it seemed, was very large--
larger than I knew.
I got a peek;
a peek behind the curtain.
Who holds the rings that hold the rings,
and who holds the ring that holds those?
It’s tempting to anoint oneself,
but in distress I called upon
the god who’s named Apollo.
I offered music unusual
to these wiry ears.
Notes so well-ordered,
lacking in chaos:
a gift to a god.
And yet, what I asked was order,
to a plan made into chaos.
I knew chaos, knew its power,
but knew not how to stop two madmen.
I saw parallels to my wildest dreams,
and sought a god
who could tether them straight--
where in an orderly fashion
they would see fruition.
The music I gave, I hope pleased his ear.
I knew not the way in which he lived,
if he was within, without, or both,
beyond the veil, or perched within it.
I’m blinded by power to make my ends,
Apollo I hope will set them straight,
so that desire will be chained,
and taken to its destination.
An outbreak of chaos, it must be subdued,
I saw the truth as it brushed Mother.
I called to be guarded, sought counsel,
and was answered in a speedy manner.
I took what I believed to be the god's advice,
and now I rest, hoping it was not given in anger.
He seems like such a handsome figure,
goldened-hued hair and a flattering robe.
Capable muscles that take in music,
placed on altars of imagination.
Laurel leaves lay around where he rests,
after tending to endeavors with golden light.
The sun, the lute, the string of my guitar
shine out from metal that glistens and vibrates.
I offered the song, and I offer this poem:
give wisdom and order where it is needed.
So may it be, so may it be…