The mind is a house.
A house with many rooms,
Rooms of all shapes, sizes and colours,
Rooms in continual renovation and adaption.
A house of many items,
Items valuable, of great beauty and history, treasured up safely for generations to come,
Items valueless, useless, discarded, disorganized, collecting dust in the basement.
A house with two windows,
Windows with open curtains, the inhabitants ever anxious to see the world,
Windows with one-way glass, the interior shrouded in mystery.
A house of activity,
Continually busy, rushing, rejoicing, never at ease,
Quite from the outside, solemn, placid, tranquil.
A house of contrasts,
Solid, sturdy, simple, like all others,
Restless, shaky, complex, unique in every way.
An exclusive, other-worldy place, precluding outsiders, it’s inhabitants hermitic,
On a rare moment, a split of time, the door is opened and you catch a glimp,
Watch carefully, it might be your only chance.
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