PortionsThe world that waits for me at the top of the stairsis 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.
