Seasonal Portions

Portions

The world that waits for me at the top of the stairs

is one of supreme quiet, and invitation_

To a pensive time of varying mood,

Strange and fanciful thought,

And ideas that burst like bright,

Exciting colors, over the furniture and appointments,

These alongside shadows, deep and grey_

This is the world of my most real self,

One of which I yearn, in paradoxical stances:

To escape, and to return-

For knowing one's self must be done in portions,

Else the whole of it would crumble,

In the terrible and marvelous scrutiny,

As a castle,

Fashioned,

Of humble sand.

To be intimate with one's self is a brave and worthy task,

Superseding that with any other.
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