Free from chaos, the id is an oasis
where muses soar and castles stand tall,
immune to blizzard’s
When troubles take hiatus, onion turns to flower,
Petals peel in layers until the heart is bared
and psyche sheds its chains
as if by magic.
How glorious the propensity for sun when every soul
has wings. Knowing rainbows follow storm,
the mind becomes a meadow blossoming with butterflies
freed from drab cocoons.