One small bed that is just mine
One black desk, the chair hued wine
One small window that looks out to the sea
One small home made just for me.

Before the place I laid my head,
tossed and turned me in my bed.
The creaking sound of opening doors,
the sound of footsteps on the floor.

A chest of drawers not truly mine,
a garden of thorns, a courtyard fine.
Across the hall a bedroom door,
I don't have to see it anymore.

Now across the hall a friend
the smell of food downstairs, no end.
The laughter of children, the sound of rain,
the warmth of a fire, the comfort of pain.

Losing at a game of chess
the smell of coffee, the feeling of a kiss.
Cold steel gentle on my skin,
crinkled eyes, the faintest grin.

My heart beating in my chest
My hands clasped before my breast,
The promise you will visit soon,
the creature comforts in my room.

My potted plants now left outside
For rain to tend to while I hide.
The sound of birds, the scent of pine,
The warmth of sunlight, while I dine.

No pressure to be what I am not,
No need to hide, from your plot.
I feel safe, I feel at ease,
before the Grand Flame on my knees.

In my small bed that is just mine
At my black desk, the chair hued wine
At my small window that looks at the sea
In my small home made just for me.

Never again will I flee
from a bed that's 'just for me'.
A promise made, a promise kept,
a creature comfort while I slept.

Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 11th of Severin, in the year 22 AC.