Architecture of Imagination

Cordoned from the outside world by trees,
I sit,
A man beneath a blissful blindfold.

The rooms I keep are dark.
They leave no space
For distraction.
Windows cloaked in blackest velvet,
Drawn closed,
As I go about my business,

The business of imagining.

The scent of each room
Is as I wish it to be.
They look and sound
As I desire.
The artifacts of my life
Line shelves, cabinets, and walls.
Past lives and dreams recorded.

Every frame,
Every book,
Every ornament,
Holds a memory,
A fragment of dream
Extracted from me.

There is abundance here,
Yet beneath it,
Order.
Everything my eye settles upon
Serves a purpose.

As I shuffle from room to room,
Teacup and saucer in hand,
I am thankful
For the comfort and safety of
My home.
My sanctuary.
My castle.
My keep.