Image: ChatGPT but with a little human intervention
skin once third room swallows blink kindling secrets starless conjures dragon demons
The Third Room
“Try to learn to love what is simply there, without explanation.”
-- Rainer Maria Rilke
The first is public, open, visible.
The second is private, even to you.
The third? Well, that is a mystery.
Usually entered by accident,
Usually left with relief.
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That third room is dim, indistinct.
Not gloomy but dark nonetheless,
Like a starless night, without form.
Secrets live here—
Things forgotten, swallowed, stored.
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Demons and dragons reside here
Beside angels, imps and unicorns.
They are conjured, not summoned,
By occasional flashed glimpses,
Seen and unseen in the blink of an eye.
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The glimpses, caught in the moment,
Go far more than skin deep,
Touching long buried nerves,
Rekindling fires of the past,
Which flare brightly then fade again.
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It is a room you visit accidentally,
Incidentally, not led astray but blindly.
It is unfurnished but heavily populated—
Like a video store of the mind:
Row upon row of old memories.
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The visits are always unexpected,
Like a walk in a house of mirrors,
Totally beyond your control—
In a blink you have entered,
Another blink—and you are gone.
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