The Door To Aetheria

Through cranial gates whose keys are locks, There sits the Door to Aetheria: the land of thoughts. Thoughts are beats of waves from pulsing piquancy, Traveling vis-a-vis reverberations in air as frequency. Between what light stimulates our sight and that which hangs inside, Is where Aetheria floats about in forms of those frequencies in it glide. Angels and demons, fairies and djinn, vampires and little pixies, Are but a few of the residents in this land often tinkering with the gypsies. Now open the gates to where mind has become matter, Where Alice had tea with two twins and a mad hatter.