La Bonne Humeur

The Siren (a poem)<br /> <br /> I heard a certain siren who called me from afar.<br /> Her song reached out and cast her spell on the wayward traveler.<br /> Irresistible. I was pulled, pulled for oh those many years,<br /> Into that island near her seaside home, and there I circled.<br /> Peace of course, with a siren, is not to be, but unthinking,<br /> I roundabout ringed the island. I ringed and ringed...<br /> <br /> Until one day I followed Odysseus in his tact,<br /> And found the wax to block my ears,<br /> So that a muted calm would cover my soul.<br /> And on that day I escaped that island, and returned<br /> To my native land, where there were no circles and I grew,<br /> Free from the servitude of an unfulfilled destiny.<br /> <br /> I grew but did not forget that siren who called me from afar.<br /> I built my life and tasted the joys that the earth offered me.<br /> <br /> Then one day, with my ears still tightly shut,<br /> I heard her voice again. Faint, but there! Piercing the waxy layer.<br /> Sadly now, she sang, but in her sadness, her voice was stronger.<br /> She called me and all the wayward souls to her, and now I knew:<br /> <br /> Still I circle her lonely island; never can I escape that call,<br /> Doomed and blessed I am to hear this sweet bitter song,<br /> For all the time that remains, languishing, relishing,<br /> The bits of purple pleasure and accepting the pain.<br /> For I have no choice. There is no waxy sentry that can save me.<br /> And I love that call, even as it cuts me, and the siren knows not that I exist.