Tranquility seems, like a far off fantasy
Tangled in a permanent mist
With no roads through, to its firm gilded walls

Stability is consumed
Splayed in the swirls of a garden
Sunned and fragrant with lust

Clarity is vibrant
It serenades, every full mind adrift

From behind the steep walls
Where the bowmen stand poised

For the stray and wishful glances
Of fools on the prowl