A Sanctuary

In the quiet corners of my own space,
Where silence weaves its tranquil lace,
I find a haven, softly lit,
A sanctuary where my spirits sit.

Here, walls listen and understand,
Embracing dreams with a gentle hand.
Each object, each shadow on the floor,
Whispers tales of who I was before.

In this room, the world outside
Fades to a murmur, where I can hide
From the clamor, the ceaseless race,
Here, in the comfort of my own space.

The books, the photos on the shelf,
Speak not of the world, but of myself.
They remind me, in their silent grace,
Of journeys taken, and the returning pace.

A chair, a desk, a lamp that glows,
A window framing the sky's endless shows.
In these simple things, I trace
The contours of my inner space.

For in this room, I am the king,
The poet, the sage, everything.
No mask to wear upon my face,
Here, in the comfort of my own space.

So let the world spin fast and wild,
Here I rest, the unburdened child.
In this small room, I embrace
The vast universe in my own space.