Little Castles

On my way out the door,

I tiptoe

Making certain the only sounds to be heard

Are the low hum of the crickets

And the faint buffeting of the wind over soft grass

They mustn’t know

Of the great journeys into the dark


The quiet is around me now

Extending its welcoming arms

Engulfing me in its serenity

And so I walk

Down the empty streets

Painted by the moon’s delicate luminosity


I make my way

A smile spreading across my face

With the knowledge that at last

I will be able to see



Just beyond the stretch of rolling hills

I behold the familiar outline

Standing tall against the blue dusk

Walls of carved stone climbing high into the overlay of obscurity above

Here lies our Little Castles


With floors varnished in dark lacquer

And ceilings adorned in gold leafing

Follow me through the wide oak doors

And behold our jewel-encrusted throne


Run with me down corridors

And fling yourself into the abyss

All the while


Because they don’t know


They will never see the way the light shines through the stained glass windows

Coating the world in hues of navy, violet, and magenta

Or the way we let down the drawbridge

And allow the thoughts to come rushing in on white stallions


For these Little Castles

Are a making of our own

Every time we close

Our effervescent eyes


This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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