(A lone voice whispers)

Dare you name them, or are they just fleeting memories or impressions?

For muses come in many forms, and this relates to all those emotional tributaries.

You consciously or unconsciously carry.


In mental interdimensional abstracts


Which waits patiently to flow rapidly, only to make you perspire when you dream.


From fear, love, and all things broken, in-between


Do they all stand knee-deep, huddled together in small circles


In quiet conversations
Until you dream?


Then agree which one will enter your mind-eyes, fast-flowing streams.


To interact, maybe inspire and be seen?


And recount whatever was said and shown, within that small conversational, huddled circles


As they all gathered together for the days grand rehearsal


Before greeting you at night

In the deep recesses of your mind

As so many others watch


Viewers forever with you
Living in The Black and White Lodge


Waiting for their turn to cross over

From their own compartmentalized tombs

To be the new muse

Standing with you
In silence


Waiting for interaction
Within your Amygdala's darkened red rooms


(C)
Copyright John Duffy