A Musing Choice

In slumbers induced at  Somnus’ whim,
Carried and caressed by Zephyrs sigh,
Through midnight drowse and moonlight dim,
I am borne in dreams, to Helicon high.

And there on the Mount that kisses the sky,
I meet the Nine daughters of Mnemosyne.
Sweet apples all in Jupiter’s eye,
Yet one Muse only, can be mine.

To tables of Ambrosia and Nectar wine,
I’m led, through halls of golden décor,
Where the Graces, Aglaia, Thalia and Euphrosyne,
Provide for all, their pleasing succour.

Guided to a throne, bedecked in jewelled splendour,
And bade to sate my hunger pang,
When unto my ears, a glorious sound does render,
Lilting sweet harmonies, as Mercury’s lyre sang.

Through the great hall, soft the melodies rang,
Divine aural offerings from tortoise shell case.
Notes entwining, as to the air they sprang,
Embodying my visions of beauty and grace.

But then alas!  Abruptly halts the music’s pace,
And silence descends, to accompany my tears.
Then Mnemosyne enters, studying my saddened face,
Foretelling wondrous tidings and allaying all my fears.

Enraptured, I listen, ‘til Jupiter appears.
Then together they speak, with one resonant voice:
A warning to you mortal, Atropos readies his shears,
Yet must you now decide – Make your Musing choice!

With heavy heart, unable yet to rejoice,
I watched the Gods depart the fabled room,
When at once the hall was empty, not an echo to revoice.
‘Til, with the lyre, the Fates appeared, from the sudden gloom.

Lachesis plucked the first string, but I felt no danger loom,
And he spake out strong and loud:
Fear not mortal, we bring not your doom,
We three Fates thread your Life, for this we are unbowed.

We speak only this once, oft does our judgement cloud;
Each  time a string we pluck, there shall come a Muse,
Until the one that you accept, for this we have avowed.
But beware, the string is cut, if you should refuse.

Ponder ye well, before you choose,
Nine Muses are there, thus nine strings too.
If eight you reject, then hear this news,
The last of the Muse, shall belong to you.

The Fates fell silent, imparting no further clue,
Whence Lachesis replucked the first string,-
And then I sensed, what was to ensue,
As the quavering note, a Muse, did bring.

I am Terpsichore, I wish to make you dance and sing,
A songstress of joy, or poetry in motion,-
Imagine your fame, as to your arm I cling,
Stardom beckons, through my devotion.

Wary of offending and the possible commotion,
I signal the Fates to pluck once more the lyre.
Atropos, at once, seeing my negative emotion,
Grasps his shears and severs the first strung wire.

Next came Polyhymnia, claiming to be the Poetic Messiah,
Using rhyming righteous and  piety to please;
I considered her at once a possible pariah,
And urged the Fates, her sermon to cease.

Two strings snipped, gives Clotho her spinning lease,
Twining the threads of my life’s fated role.
And as Lachesis twangs the third string with ease,
There appears Melpomene, to bare to me my soul.

I am the Seer, I can reveal to you your goal,
The fruitlessness of life and circumstance of death.
Choose me now, and pay not the toll,
“ can steer you from tragedy, til your last breath.

I recoil in shock, not wishing to know death,
And frantically signal the Fates to progress.
That as the Muse vanishes, I think of Macbeth,
How he, with this knowledge, had tried to digress.

And thus came Clio, my memory to bless,
To recall to mind, days gone by.
A fine partnership, but one to redress,
For most of those times, I had lived a lie!

Sensing an impasse, the Fates cast their die,
And plucked forth Thalia, a comedienne of note.
A thespian temptress of laughter, Oh how I laugh and cry,
But knowing there is more to life, her mirth I calmly smote.

Clotho looked up, as if to freely gloat,
Five threads had she, of my life to twine.
But still I had four, on which to make a vote,
To choose the Muse, that would be mine.

Lachesis then stringed the sixth of the Nine,
And a myriad of stars, through the dark shone.
Urania was unseen, but gave an astral sign,
That I, unwanting, could be a celestial icon.

And so to the seventh, as I attempt my liaison,
As Atropos wields his shears with glee.
I clutch hand to my head in desperation,
As Lachesis, with a gesture, strums Euterpe to me.

My name is music, unfettered and free,
My lyrics invoke the Gods of song.
So hear my chant and litany,
And release your soul to my siren throng.

I shake my head, uncaring right or wrong,
As Atropos, unfeeling, severs another cord.
With choices diminishing, ’tis time to be strong,
To select a Muse, from the depleted horde.

And thus, penultimate, came Calliope to my ward,
Speaking at length, words of epic portents.
And thus I rebuked her unwarranted applaud
As in haste I dispatched her, to the Fate’s intents.

And now spake Clotho, enhancing my suspense:
Not one before you has made it to the last,
The unchosen ones, give your life no defence,
Look forward with Erato, all that is done is past.

Lo, I beheld Erato, a vision of love unsurpassed,
Imparting words of passionate rhyme.
The Poetess of Love!  And thus my choice is cast,
Thankful in my heart, that I had bided my time.

The Fates gathered round, my happiness sublime,
And showed unto me, my life’s threaded braid.
With Erato’s musings, make not of life a mime,
And in expressing love for another, be not afraid.

The Fates then vanish and my dreamworld starts to fade,
And through the Sea of Destiny, I and Erato swim.
And on my return from Helicon with this lovely maid,
Such words of love shall I pen, Erato’s seriatim!

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