After the Festivities of the Waves were ended,
those rites both sacred and joyous,
I was encircled by proud women,
a Greek chorus of muses of my own;
they protected, and yet, taunted me,
speaking my words before I could speak them.
They led me to a strange cavern,
in it's dimness I saw only fear;
their beckoning laughter chided me,
my humiliation, my ignorance.
Clutching a bag of belongings
as though some talisman:
pathetic, pre-fabricated remnants
to ward against imagined evils.
Yet, I remained as more a mere wraith
to the cave denizens, fluttering within;
my chorus of muses simply regarded me
with crook'd eyebrows and amused smiles.
They then brought me strange elixirs
that eased my loss and anxiety;
biding me to join them around
a curious crimson oval table;
their attention upon me would waver
then return, as they greeted, distantly,
this subterranean's legions,
sometimes joining in their rhythmic rituals.
Five of them, they'd each gaze at me in turn,
their attention fixed then drawn away at intervals,
a dizzying dance of eyes and speech,
leaving me breathless as the next began.