The Reality of My Fortress

I'm living in a castle made of sand. 

It looks to be made of some hearty stone, 

But I'm good at finding truth. 

Sometimes I pluck it out of ears, like a magician's coin. 

Truth is a bit more expensive. 

Still, the castle is cheap. 

All I need is for it to keep me dry, 

And so it does. 

Like a wise man, I built it on a rock. 

I believe things firmly even as I embrace fluidity. 

Yet, sand withers away in the wind, 

And what I took refuge in crumbles onto my head 

As well as inside my soul. 


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