My sisters dance to heaven's music,
ears tuned to hymns, eyes fixed on stars.
My sisters write great tales of splendour,
hearts bloated with lust, heads humming with heroes.
But I see you.
I see you work, in love, in battle,
gazing at lines pressed by sea and sky.
I see you hysterical, inspired, indifferent,
and in your blackest hours, I know you lie there
crooked on the floor. I see your jagged, flailing soul
and I rise you again.
You wear my grinning mask once more,
more forceful than the bravest saints
and wiser than the gravest preachers.
You wear my mask and mock your monsters,
delight in delusion and befriend your strangers.
You slice pieces of truth, bitter and arid,
tipsy with romance, mellow with farce.
I laugh with you, then, in your tiny, tilted world,
hanging in darkness and turning to the sun.
-----
Thalia- one of the Greek muses; Protector of Comedy
