Daniel Koria | + Follow Poet |
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That Door

I sit alone in a room staring at a door,
I think of all I have done and wish I could do more.
In that door are the lies that I always tell myself,
And it is because of that door that I call out for help.

I count up to five so that I can try to fall asleep,
I count up to five to find some sort of relief.
One, two, three-four-five,
My chest still has a beat so I must be alive.

I can't seem to find rest because that door still provokes me,
I blink for a second and now it's open right before me.
I see the darkness and realize that it's not an ordinary door,
I realize this isn't a dream and it's not some game anymore.

The door opens wider and I see a figure standing,
He stands there at the entrance and seems to be waiting.
He is an apparition of my thoughts that is brought to life by my beliefs,
Then he disappears for a short time, a moment that is almost brief.

He appears once again bringing only doubt to my mind,
So I try to be at peace for that is all I wish to find.
He continues to stand there trying to haunt me with his presence,
He stays situated in front of the door and taunts me like a menace.

This person is made up of a million lies and a billion doubts,
I try to speak to him but words stay imprisoned in my mouth.
The figure then steps into the light and from the door's darkness he is free,
He steps into the light and is a mirror reflection of someone; me.

I sit alone in a room staring at a door,
I think of all I have done and wish I could do more.
In that door are the lies that I always tell myself,
And it is because of that door that I call out for help.

Copyright © Daniel Koria | Year Posted 2017

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