Deep Thoughts

We are built of rooms we do not show, with heavy doors and windows painted shut, where currents of a deeper river flow through every secret canyon we have cut. We measure time in hours and in days, in ticking clocks and shadows on the wall, but thoughts are ancient, lost in tangled maze, where moments stretch and centuries feel small. Is the soul a witness or a cage? A spark of light trapped in a house of bone? We write our lives on every passing page, yet read the deepest chapters all alone. The stars above are fires from the past, a million ghosts that flicker in the gray. We are the same light thats meant to last, long after we have looked the other way. So quiet now, the mind begins to bloom beyond the reach of noise and hollow speech. There is a universe within this room with galaxies just slightly out of reach.