I'm tripping. 

Below the sheath of crepescule,

the caving walls of darkness fell;

3 dmensional pen in cube;

the shaded face of pale 4 walls. 

The Summit Queen, the watcher-girl,

the observer of the red-line-trail,

of plasma streams and pulsar-tail,

through stellar intermedium to Earth's pale shell.

Within the walls, the window produced-

a wide-black eye with glitter view,

a universe, the answer to-

all the ponderings of Summits' muse.

But alas as it seemed, to the Summit-Queen

The watcher-girl of silver sheen,

T'was naught but 4 walls, a 3-D cube,

of human-shell and darknened room,

and shade of wonders to dream through,

when you're simply alone in your head.