Muse by Moh

 Perhaps it is only a thought, or a word uttered, or maybe just a ripple, a drop of the rain without meaning. Still the skin develops goosebumps, maybe from the chill wind, the fingers quiver, the teeth shiver with the initial words in mind. Farther away yet nearer, the initial expression dressed up in terror and sighting emerges from the darkness, still covered in a veil. But maybe, it was only a ripple, and yet its great cataracts fall, and fall, and fall, parting ways between steady hills of might. Its like trying to shape a sculpture with your hands, sensibly, wildly following your own whim with rage and equilibrium-every minute, you terribly fail. Wave after wave, filled with doubt like the thought of the ocean overflowing from its bottomless cup. Listening to the profound silence in the mind, sometimes deafening, yet with a night of storms filled with dry winds. Trying to make out what the huge silence in the mind means. The solitude, uncertainty, pain, anger, joy, laughter, ...