Mediocrity

I had spent more than a thousand rough hours,
distaining the coward’s wax in my ears;
instead, forcing myself as each note soured
to find some beauty in each sound that neared –

even the ravening gluttonous song
of the apathetic devouring fog,
that slow, rends the flesh and bone of the strong
to a tasteless gruel not fit for a dog;

and lashed to the mast, saw a Siren’s face,
denied its audience, wither and fade,
its tentacles exposed above the sea.
After a moment, I thought to replace

the now dead air with a song I had made;
but had no Music left inside of me.

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