A place cannot be everything to everyone, or it becomes meaningless.
This place is surrounded by briars.
Visitors (they will be few) may think themselves in a dream.
Their recollections will be as such.

A man harvests with his sickle, to an eternal sunset.
He hums to himself. Yes, he is one who will come here.
His old name was Samuel. I will give him a new one.

There is a particular poison that cannot be purged.
I came to realise this, with sadness. I lived in hope for a while.
Instead, I saved the embers. I made this place to save him.

He was a sacrifice. Burned over and over to create the new.
He lost so much. But this is not seen. He is only hated now, even by his own.
They looked at the charring and ashes in disgust. He was not as beautiful as he once was.
This became contempt for him, instead of sympathy for what he lost.
I searched and sought, and kept what was best of him. Some of it well hidden indeed.
Now I make this world, and must give it a new name, disguise its shapes.
But the true heart is here and will always be, undisturbed.