Tag Archives: doors

Monolith

The door before me is an absurd sarcasm
designed to be a wall when one can choose
an opening otherwise
but has been a wall for generations now.

All children try the handle once or twice
deceive their friends with curiosity
laughing at themselves echoed.

In the years of life’s setting
we try more often;
with every passing,
hoping now the memories behind us
got it wrong – nothing in between.

All the time from bookend to bookend
we are overwhelmed with openings.
A coliseum leading us deep within
until we are more spectacle than audience
at last.

In youth and uselessness we look eagerly for a way out.

An Opening Closed

A turmoil lay beyond this door,
I can feel it.
Like a quenched sun in a small cage;
a dim rage lit.

The threshold hungers for my feet
to have them cross
but the door for now remains closed,
their supposed loss.

Perhaps my presence is enough
existing here,
pressed against the grain with my weight;
like bait, I fear.

But it seems I must make the attack first,
turn the handle
become consumed by the beast held
a quelled candle.

For now the door must remain shut
while I stand fast
against the wood and sounds that seethe;
I breathe my last.