Free from chaos, the id is an oasis
where muses soar and castles stand tall,
immune to tides,
even to tsunami.
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 that day of sun when every soul has wings,
Gorgeous rainbows after storm, the meadow green
and blossoming with butterflies
free from drab cocoons