If I Were a Poet

When I was a child
I hunted at night in enchanted forests,
wrestling with my bare hands the wildest beast of all:
music.

I was terrorized by the roaring inside me,
until I gripped its neck and pinned it to the page.

Then, before I’d even finished my victory dance,
I heard the voice of a siren,
singing irresistibly
about greater adventures in a distant land.

So like a medieval son,
with a head full of conquest
I fled without armor, sword, or map.
Wide-eyed but blind, I ran
and fell into a sunless pit
where a dragon waited,
and, for the first time ever,
there was nothing but silence within myself.