The Tenth Muse

I've never been a muse
In a past life or lucid dream,
Telling men how to sing
With suggested inspiration
And filling body with longing and pursuant strength.
Goddesses aren't real women after all,
Little boys make up all myth
With female characters in static place.
Hesta of the hearth,
Stoking fire for the consortium of gods.
Moon a woman, borrowing Helios' pure power-
Silver is the colour of reflected gold.
The jealous wife Hera,
Dangerous beauty with a dangerous hand
Watching Husband make victories in secret.
But the nine had their arts
They thought it was sacred possession
Of treasure they gave to men
To make them more like women and less beasts,
Through dreams and visions collected
In scribed bibles
Filling shelves of humble homes.
Humble with women at the fire's side,
In beds working for men and children
Looking to prayer for assurance
And the moon for a fellow heart
In a world that muses control in stealth;
Forgoing glory
With the mask of man.