I Tiresias sit by the wall
of Thebes, and watch with sightless eyes
the passing show; and each footfall
gives meaning to my song of sighs.
These sounds are mixed with magic so
that anyone upon whose ear
they fall, will sense the sacred glow;
and know what storms have swept me here.
Nor need my words be meaningful
so long as in them gods go round,
for the hidden Muse hides her soul
in the silence between my sounds.
My music’s mocked! I don’t belong.
Though the world hates me and I’m blind,
I dip the ladle of my song
into the cauldron of God’s mind.