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.
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