There can be sanctuary, sought and found,
A melding of head and heart.
A shelter, a refuge, a haven, a retreat,
Where function and comfort play their part.
–
Peripheral distractions fade away,
A miasma of stillness kicks in.
Each passing moment of silence prevails,
While the flows of stored notions begin.
–
Libraries and galleries may have their draw
For the probing, searching mind.
But these always lack the drop of an anchor,
That a quiet room offers.
A sanctuary of a different kind.
–
The mind undergoes some climate control,
And alternative therapies may take over.
But the thrust of it all is sourced from within.
A place where it stays, moreover.
–
A burgeoning of poetry and prose,
All entrenched in the mysteries of life.
A quiet shuffling of notions,
With solace and serenity running rife.
–
A place where fantasy and reality competes,
In this, a most coveted abode.
Only unmarked mileposts giving directions,
Along this meandering road.
–
Never a rush to seek them out.
Search and they come to light.
There are always places like these,
All hiding in plain sight.
–
With balancing scales always empty,
All at peace with the rhythm of time.
It’s an ambiance right for retreating,
Regardless of prose or rhyme.
–
In a sanctuary, mostly silent,
More a state of mind than a place.
It begins and ends with a stillness,
And remains in a state of grace.