Burning leaves.

There is a place.
A hidden place.
A place where shadows are real.
Illusions are solid here.

There is a voice.
An omnipresent voice.
A voice that directs all things.
Whispers are rules here.

A dark place where light never shines.
Sealed off from everything.
Filled with shadows and illusions and whispers.
Filled with grey.

All the leaves are burning here.
Burning but never turning to ash.
The fires rage on and on.
Always more to burn.

A silent place.
A quiet place.
A dark place.
A fiery place.

This place is where I exist.
The centre and the edges.
None can find me here.
I am god here.