A Beginning Poem

Greetings, fellows Muse-wrecked;
Might our images here recline
And all our fleeting shadows mate
As dusty words give birth to rhyme:

As Zeus, Olympus' crown with pealing thunder blasts,
Or Philomel, abject with swallow song, Tiresias enthralls;
Would then that Dream, the bane of artists deserts cast,
Or Thanatos raise its dreaded head o'er the sea of Genesis...

May we, in worded orgies thus compete
To try at last which stands supreme:
Wilt be prophetic Melancholy in his loathsome train?
Or vain Delight and Mirth that in their pleasures teem?

I know not, I confess, but this the merit be:
That out the crafting of such foolery,
One line might capture generations unto poetry,
Inspiring thus, to be inscribed within eternity.