calliope
If I have faith in but one thing,
It's that I might be loved by the stars,
And that hope might struggle to sing,
Knowing in me, I know all her bars.
So like a grand calliope,
The ethereal steam leaks out,
And thus muses music that be
Gaily festive, or sadly devout -
Yet, cold are the strokes of the stars,
That strain-by-strain mete out the blows
To sear inner worlds with tough scars,
Or sing tuneful hope before she goes.
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