(4th week of July 2020)

Muted Muse

Whispers kept in wishing hearts
like the residue of dreams
trickle into conscious canyons
through momentary streams

Is it plain and preposterous
in its audacious hope and cause
to press against the waking world
expecting some applause?

For propriety would indeed
push back on thoughts as such
and an ounce of indecent passion
like this is far too much

So we wrap the center tighter
and find for it another use
Daily we walk with smiles of pain
ignoring the muted muse