It’s a wondrous fortress:

The blood red mote ought not be

More inviting. However we may try

To confine ourselves within,

The water of the outside breaches.

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A trespassing figment, we lower our

Bridges to gain our necessities.

Merely enough to sustain us,

Not so much to please us, but

We feel safe, secure.

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A gilded fortress for our gilded hearts,

So forlorn we are without.

So afraid we are, to let the bridge down

So that company may entertain,

So that others may soften our gilded souls.

---

And yet, so difficult to block this wound

Once it is open and our own confines are

Spilling out. Not so easy to retain some

Any - amount of familiarity to our fortress,

Because it was given away willingly.

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When all is lost, our fortress is empty

Devoid of all we held dear to us

Until someone comes again, to fill us to

The brim of our walls, with what we had

Given before they had come.