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Erato
by Robert Santellana Acosta

Erato;
With fresh washed hands,
Pulls my ear,
Whispering inspiration.

Dancing in my mind,
Kissing, caressing my hands,
Loving, eating, bathing with me,
Guarding while I sleep.

Men forget to fight for you,
To beg you every day for love,
It could have been one wrong word,
Jealousies unseen, actions not taken.

Until our eyes are clear,
And the room is quiet and cold,
The real emptiness of the world appears,
When Erato abandons us.
        
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Poem ID: 84078   Poem Posted: 11/4/2006
Viewed: 3165  Voted On: 2  E-mailed: 0  Commented On: 0
 
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Copyright , Sept./2006, Robert Santellana Acosta  all rights reserved by the author.
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