Holy of Holies

I  long for the inner sanctuary;
There I'm tucked away from all grief and care.
Alone with thoughts at once sublime and rare,
I inhale a better, purified, air.

Free from the rustle of the outer world,
Free from its pain and worrying grief,
I hear chimes of ethereal relief,
Savoring a symphony all too brief.

There would I fly away and gladly hide
From all who would intrude upon my rest,
From everything that would trouble my breast,
From all that would leave my mind so opprest!

Contemplative soul needs precious solitude
To see the whole of all that is real,
To bind up the wounds and gently heal,
From the clamour of the world to quietly steal!