The House With a Hundred Rooms

There once was a house. Very tall. Very wide.
With a hundred-odd rooms tucked and stacked deep inside.

Not one was the same. Not a ceiling nor floor.
Each room had a curious sign on its door.

There’s a room filled with socks that don’t ever match pairs.
And a room where the ceiling is made out of chairs.

There’s a whispering hallway that giggles at night.
And a room full of shadows that glow in the light.

There’s a kitchen that cooks up whatever you like.
And a room that’s outdoorsy so you can go hike.

There’s a room filled with rain but you’ll never get wet.
And a room that remembers what you might forget.

There’s the staircase that spirals but never goes down.
And the closets that lead to a faraway town.

There’s a room filled with sighs and a room filled with grins.
An alley for bowling where you throw the pins.

There’s a room for your family, one for your friends,
And a room where the stories begin where they end.

But the oddest of all, and i say this with care,
Is the room with no floor and no walls and no air.

Where you float all alone (though you’re not, you will find)
In the endless expanse of your very own mind.