I.

I grew up in a castle
Scented with somedays
Decorated by daydreams;



Guarded staunchly by 
a stone wall 
that is 
solid
to the 
prodding 
finger; 





Lit by torches 
flickering fiercely
casting barely enough light to see
around each corner.

Comprised of some halls
so small 
you must 
duck down
to squeeze
through them
And of other rooms so 
Humungous
that the
Words and Images within them
Dance In The Air and Bounce Off the Walls in a Majestic Twirl of Folly
Stamped By The Distinct Beauty Of Absurd Humanity.

II.
Sometimes 
Just sometimes
In the most narrow passageways of my castle
or
In those gaping spaces where time and darkness eat away at memory
Out of the confusion of innocence and absence and change
comes Sense.

Not that the Outsiders know, of course,
 for they can only see what is without.
A castle beckons attack, after all
And the outside must appear insurmountable

But those who live inside,
skirting the rubble of wishes 
that tumbles down in chunks of doubt,
they see the truth:
that Sense is rare and that the castle is crumbling.

Not That
They realize it
Yet.

Not until
The Somedays
And Daydreams
Are replaced
by that reality that is