I sit in the walled
bunker of my mind,
perched on its revolving turret,
looking through its windows, and see

only the friendly, waving trees, and hear
only the breeze in their branches.
The sky is motionless
in its blue chemise.

There's nothing to defend against.
For once, the turret can rest,
the walls can come down.

Max Reif

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/06new-another-poem-on-the-balcony/