There is a place in existence
a celestial city of gases that swirl and whirl
where atoms kiss and collide
where hot spells squirm and engulf without
where forces cannot be mistook for fragments
of mortal imagination
Where power is.
There is a place within a place
a suburbia of sorts
where spheres motion yet never collide
where orbs hum and croon and harmonize
a hypnotizing monotony
that remains for all eternity.
Within that place lies
a place called home
a household of vast land and yet of vaster sea
where mortals wander and discover and
make trouble and recover
where spirits destroy and apologize for destruction
and make false promises of reconstruction
where beings boast of their facts and so called truths
where souls cross bridges and burn bridges
and remember only the smell of smoke that remains
where minds fantasize of strength and dream of moving mountains
where eyes blindly look away from monsters that lie beyond the edge of our vision
where thoughts stray away from the Heavens
and the hell it can bring.
In the comforts of home we put up walls and fences
In the comforts of home we close windows and lock doors
In the comforts of home we build blanket forts in living rooms
In the comforts of home we frolic amongst the towers of pillows
In the comforts of home we console ourselves with the notion that we are nothing short of grand.
Ain’t we grand?
Copyright © Imana Gunawan