This proverbial palace of pen And paper has room for Exactly as many as We are. Together. People of Parchment, welcome. Move in.
Poem has room for your every letter, Each one of your feelings, all Pleasure; all hurt. It's diary, -hallways that go on Forever- That you can explore in your mind, It is birth
Of things that you love, that you see Your own features in. Thoughts fit for sharing with minds Like your own. It's channel for channeling, channel For handling the things that arise, You are never alone.
It's words to the pictures of love That you witnessed, it's tellings of Hardships you had To withstand. It's more discriptive of lust and of Pleasure than movies you watch in The dark with Your hand.
The Palace of Poem has room for Each poet. The doors are unlocked, See the sign: "Vacancy." Interiour's custom, your personal Taste as design, and don't ask: It is perfectly free.
In here there's no grown-ups, We're children; just taller. No bedtime, no said time to eat or Come home. In here you can choose to create When you're crying, or laughing or Tickled or cut to the bone. - It's a palace fit for the Kings and Queens of Expression That truly live in your Every Mirror.