Mother

My mother is immortal;

Erato, a Greek goddess,

a muse who grants inspiration

to those who seek her.

She spreads wings of gold

across the streaks of sunrise,

and grabs my childlike hand

as she soars beyond the heavens

to the stars that scatter the galaxies

with white bursts of nuclear inspiration,

shock waves of ecstatic art,

and supernovas of rainbow explosion,

like colors splattered across a canvas,

words spread across a page.