From my tower I look down, as I do near every night, And I see what I am left to live with by the dying light. I can see my dear companions, playing music bittersweet, And I still can taste the nectar of the flowers that I eat. There is much to feel around me, like the smooth stone of my floor, And I smell the kitchen spices fragrant just beyond my door. My friends' songs float up to me upon the warm and sultry breeze, And I hear their cries of brooding, weaving through the weeping trees. Even as I long to join them, I turn back to do my work, For I know I cannot go there, and my duties I'll not shirk. I hath made this world of longing when I peeked beyond the veil; Although I may hope for freedom, my creation is a jail.
This is the place I retreat to in my mind when things get hectic. It calms me, but it hinders me at times as well.