Mouseion Home Of The Muses Poem by Lovita Morang

Museum of lives, lives in Mouseion, homes of the muses
Beneath these power of lights
What constant joy opens to dark delights,
Severed from myriad play of dreams
Nothing penetrates into distorted sparks, it seems.

In all true things, celestial charm confronts the creator,
In picayune infracted, we mend the erroneous creditor;
To free this will to love uncaptivated,
What wars waste the steady growth of moth, motivated,

These intense fire whirl beneath the heart of ocean,
I had to leave, to free the chained prisoners of meretricious missive, their own hand- written,
Today, tomorrow we shall wrestle to writhe not
Misshapen sculptures, without the touch of sand, stands slacken,
I sit still in the cave of my calm heart to feel the gleaming beauty in temporal, in this body of clay laden,

Eternal days dawn in lost mists of time, sonorous sun do sing for all, nectary nods,
Yet, love that lames the house of muses, wrench the ligaments, stones of gods from dead sea, see the grace of the Goliath of Gods.

- Lovita J R Morang