Reply to a Lullaby

a silhoette of a man is falling into deep water and is several feet below the surface. Between him and the surface is a lyre.

Always,
Inevitably,
One day,
People call time on me.
Teachers,
Therapists,
Even family,
These should be,
daggers,
lacerating my innards.
Yet,
bleed I don’t!
For, you, my love,
are my balm;
The persistent orchestra,
on my
pernicious voyage,
Soothing me,
While staring down
Iceberg-ian obstacles.
Why would I drown,
when I am blessed
with the sacred music,
of your love!

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