Borrowed Bliss
The kettle sings, the windows rain,
the evening folds around the pane,
And I can slowly let go of my shame.
I curl beneath my fraying throw
and leave the world I used to know.
Through forests deep with silver fae,
where dragons scorch the skies to grey,
And ancient beings begin to decay,
where elven voices rise like streams
and pull me softly through my dreams.
The house grows quiet, dim, and small,
Mum’s footsteps fading down the hall,
yet kingdoms bloom beyond my wall.
A lamp becomes a lantern’s light,
my blanket armour for the night.
For stories stitch what life unwinds,
they calm the storms inside our minds,
And quiet strength within us binds.
And though the world feels hard to miss,
I find my peace in borrowed bliss.
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