I’ve never been adept at finding a place for myself
Most too hot, very few too cold
A just right locale I fear that I’ll never behold
In a just right world full of the wonders of magic or science
You’d be given a chance to make a world all your own
Your place wours and other only theirs
Big, small, hot, cold, concrete or grass it’s up to you
Mine would be eternally cool like an autumn evening
Chilled breezes thread thread their paths through every now and gain
Vast sentinels stand watch over thousands of miles of forest
Cold, clear streams gallop over ricks on a lost journey to a few isolated lakes
Despite abundant vegetation animals seen less than your own shadow
What few creatures exist do so as silent watchers
The world is as quiet as the grave
Only I can be heard, the only thing to denote that this is not a dead world
In the Center
or maybe not, in infinites no one is sure
Lies a low spacious home
A castle of warmth in a world chilled to the bone
Warm colors, couches, fire, furniture, and books in heaps
Crystal windows on most walls look out on my perfect world