Inside my noisy mind.

I may be quiet on the outside
But on the inside I am deafening.
In the forest of my mind
Creeks of color merge
With ponds of palettes
That feed into the ocean
Of visual possibilities.
Along the shore, musical notes roam
As they rearrange themselves
In arrangements sometimes dissonant
But other times harmonious
With haunting melodies worthy of creation.
In the sky, clouds of words drift freely
To form random sentences
Sometimes making no sense
But other times spelling out ideas
For my next great novel.
So the next time you see me looking quiet,
I’m really not.

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