The Lyrist

why, I am but a modern Orpheus

I open my delicate ribcage

and beckon your song

from my heartstrings

pulling each tender note

out to ring through the air

why, if I could place my love for you

in the toothiest of beasts

through the song of my heart-lyre,

he would surely weep

wretched salty tears

but he would taste only

the sweetness of your lips

why, if I could kiss you once

for every step I take

I wouldn't hesitate

to trod the length of the Styx

as I did once

so many bitter lifetimes ago

searching for you

oh, how silent it was

in the stillness of your absence

the song felt so strangled in my throat

though the gods had me sing it again

and again

where once I wept as I kissed your hand,

tears numerous as the stars painting our destinies,

I could only swallow back sighs

and tug on the strings of my lyre again

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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