Μοῦσαι (Muse)

I wonder how many pages I would fill if I wrote the way I thought.

If my imagination found its way onto a page.

Daydreams painting themselves on canvases.

What music would be created from my quiet musings?

What shapes would the wanderings that form and flicker through my mind take?

The banks of “what I should’ve said” twirling gently around missed opportunities.

Worlds created and destroyed from one thought to another.

Misshapen memories, now more fiction than real.

What art would my mind conjure if it could materialise itself?

Would it think itself special?

Demand its due appreciation and awe?

Would it glare at viewers, listeners, and audiences, daring objections?

Would it mount itself onto a pedestal and look out for adoring fans?

Would it be parasitic, burrowing into the hearts of others?

What would it be like?