What a muse meant

I was mired in a reflecting pool

Forcing epiphanies to the surface

Watching them gasp

Without malice

But

They wouldn’t galvanize

In their composition

They emerged paralyzed

Bled of all consecration

How long did I wait for you here?

Nursing  pneumonic abstraction?

How did you make my blood run clear?

I can sense my spirit’s new inflection.

All the thoughts of my spectrum

Focused through this prism

What more could a Muse Mean?

When they speak to you, for you.

Image

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