The whisper of Athena,
Seemingly coming out of thin air,
Songs sweet with passion,
But not for me,
Though I feel the same pain
Odysseus must have
Strapped to this mast of his ship,
Unable to resist the siren’s song,
His mast, my mast
Growing stiff in this sea-bound breeze
The siren’s song stirring up
Things from the bottom,
That dark deep out of which
All passion arises,
Getting me drunk
Only not this time on wine,
Making me ache in ways
I never imagined I could,
Mortal men like me
Never meant to endure
Songs like hers
Meant only for the ears
Of gods.
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