My Sanctuary

The room of life, a strange and thoughtful place,

Cobwebs streaking from corner to corner,

Dim windowlight appearing on my face

In my own fortress, I'm a foreigner

 

On one wall, hanging paintings reminding

Of memories, stitched in wood and pastel

Diamond-shaped holes in another, hiding

Another wall, behind which hatreds dwell.

 

There ought to be four walls within a room

Within mine, there are hundreds, each distinct

each coated with a brush of love, of gloom

each separately in its own way linked

 

Oh which, oh which, oh which wall shall I show?

That is a choice which only I can know

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