Pure thought stirs the body, deep and slow,
Amidst the silken sheets where precious dreams may grow.
Outside, ionized winds caress with gentle breath,
In an ethereal solitude, untouched by death.
Outside, an acid rain begins to fall,
I built a shell of amber, strong and small.
Some see a prison, profane and confined,
I scent it like wild thyme, untamed and kind.
Here, the atmosphere is ideal, divine,
No clerks, no luckless soldiers in the line.
Here, eloquence wears a royal crown,
Here, we gild the final beacons, shining down.
Step, oh world, upon the palm-woven floor,
Just leave your rational shoes outside the door.
In the land of the unfulfilled "why," we reside,
As we nourish precious sediments deep inside.
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