The Door

The Door It stood against the ravages of time Locked tight against any signs of hope Of seeing the other side. Doors built by man in many ways To protect things of value, or hide a life behind. Scarred by years of life’s events Remaining stout; but yet to be seen The door stands as a sentinel of time blocking the entrance to a life inside. Standing firm, yet scarred beyond belief It does its chore faithfully and well Keeping out the prying eyes searching for its hidden secrets. Though battered and worn, time has made it seem This door stands as a barrier of life Protecting all within from any form of strife. No matter the problems it conceals This old door cannot dampen the memories of events untold, Of the pain and trauma of these events, the passage of time itself allows one to finally accept; erase, is not a word invented yet.