Doors
And in my dream I walk corridors with old creaking floors,
deep in the sanctum of my soul voices stir calling me to come;
and soon, I enter a hall of doors, doors and doors . . .
red doors painted bright, green doors with polished knobs.
Blue, deep and dark lovely blue, and varnished doors,
a heavy ornate church door, is ajar with beckoning hymns drifting;
one hundred year old doors with brass chimes- portals to long ago,
wide barn doors in antique grey, with open wide thresholds.
Doors with chipped white paint- oh my beating heart,
rounded doors, broken doors, some to push, some to pull;
through a long forgotten door- the wreckage of my life . . .
A door opens, new and polished- the entrance to where?
Closed doors, swinging doors, locked doors with a sign Do Not Open,
doors with steps, doors with brass keys dangling;
and doors with chimes, press here for access, my dear,
then, I see two doors side by side, a simple cedar door- a golden door.
Oh, I stand unsure, which door? I hesitate and then,
I put my hand on the knob of the golden door- Nirvana is beyond;
then, I open the simple cedar door, which takes me to the here and now,
and I breathe a sigh of relief, yes, this is exactly where I need to be.
______________________
March 24, 2017
Poetry/Prose Poetry/Doors
Copyright Protected, ID 17-9602-78-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
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