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.