There was a circle of rain
Of fire falling
Falling from the shallow blue strain
Grasping the ceiling

Deep above the bottom
Glistening red strings of ash
Flowing inside gravity
Passing solid past

It rose to the floor
And washed the cool air
Rinsing the black space
Eating the tired stare

Until the voice was plain
Whispering old tides
Whispering to the future
Touching the metal that bides

The mist of this room
Is a shelter from the cold

A stagnate sanctuary

The wind is rough
The liquid is freezing
And the dry air is choking

But not between these porcelain walls

Soaking a stark reverse
To the world that surrounds
But it’s the difference more than warmth
That wraps one's soul and bounds
Me to that simple notion

It's the still contrast

Somewhere that is not
With sensations that sometimes exist
Where in the mist
Calmness can be caught