Entry 81: A door appearing repeatedly in accounts of childhood, though never in the same location twice. Some reports place it in a hallway; others in a field after rain. All agree it stood open and led elsewhere.
I arrived late.
The hinges
still remembered
movement.
Beyond,
a brightness
neither welcomed
nor refused.
The threshold
outlived the house.
The night grows thick until it breathes like steel
against my skin, a weight I cannot shake.
The shadows shift as if they long to feel
their old sharp purpose, learning how to wake.
Small stings arrive—not wounds, but whispered signs
that something colder moves along my frame.
The room tilts inward; darkness redefines
its edges, folding close around my name.
A presence settles deep behind my ribs—
no blade, but pressure thinning out my heat.
It unthreads warmth from all the life it grips,
a quiet loosening, strangely soft, complete.
And then I know: this cold is not the end,
but inward-opening door, a different bend.
Opens as an invite
And multihued
Soft, for whom heard, speak low
Spring had accrued.
The single-minded bee.
That seriously!
Now wider, with a more
Impassioned fuss
For whom heard not, Spring too
Has massed. O'erplus!
One-hearted butterfly.
That smoothly sly!
A Doorway in Disguise
Closure is peace
Sadness is sometimes the doorway
through which happiness enters,
wearing a disguise.
When you release the rope of fear
you’ve been gripping so tightly
afraid you’ll sink once you let go
you discover instead
the taste of joy.
A full vase cannot receive more.
To welcome God’s blessings,
you must first make room.
Empty the vessel of fear,
of doubt, of helplessness,
and trust His power
to refill it
with abundance.
Fear numbs the senses.
It dulls our ability
to receive light,
to recognize gifts.
Never doubt yourself.
It is okay to slow down.
It is okay to lose your way.
It is okay if the journey
takes longer than expected.
It is okay to fall,
to get hurt.
It’s okay to start all over again
This, too, is part of the process.
It was meant to happen.
Now rise
and become the maestro
of your own orchestra,
and dance
to your own pace,
your own rhythm.
The doorway waited, silent, for someone who never arrived.
1427 MONOKU LINE
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Contest Judged: 11/29/2025 10:36:00 PM
( 1st Place )
written_Krung Thep Aphiwat_11272025
the found map led me to an
asymmetrical doorway, created by an artesian
I wondered at the builder as I approached
the boards were placed diagonally
skillset many carpenters have not mastered
I knew now I was dealing with a professional
the knocker was a bit off-kilter, which amused me.
the brickwork looked a bit random also.
who created this wall? This door?
the paint was not fresh, there were bits of ivy.
A quaint shabby chic look.
I could not wait to meet the occupant.
the doors are gorgeously done
as is the ornate design of the entire building
a complete package, not difficult to find in Venice
Old world magic, in the form of architecture
created by some of the world’s finest artesians
not found in many places, but found here
I take a photo, but it will never be complete enough
too flat to fully express the expressions of this beauty
I wonder how many creators worked on this archway
and the balcony above it; was it done all at once
or did someone add these touches one by one afterwards?
I take six more photographs, knowing they will never be this awe inspiring.
“F”, we’ll call him Felipe
Felipe found a doorway
he didn’t mean to
he wasn’t looking for it
and at first he wasn’t aware
he’d gone through it
but something was off
shades of familiarity
were centred off-centre
ripples among ripples
enticingly chiselled
casting a darkness
slyly across shadows
against a background veil
but where Felipe was now
an intrigue kept him, lured
for now one of the numbers
he had found a world
in a world that found him
“F”, we’ve called him Felipe
is still watching you
but from nearer, afar
the dream spirals
inside your mind
opening he inner door
to reveal the hidden truth
that lurks inside the darkness
behind the door
the fog lifts
as the wheel spins
to a golden sunrise
shining its new light
upon the darkness inside
taking the inner soul on
on a journey
to internal serenity
where hearts and flowers
thrive in the calming waters
waters that once was
a raging torrent
death's stood in the doorway
but i'm no good with words
so my pleas for mercy
come in the form of
fresh bandages on old wounds
and plastering my vices on greeting cards
though the reaper argues
that if there was any value
in a butterfly whose wings
are pinned to a corkboard
or a soul with one foot in the grave
and the other being fed to wolves
he'd carry his mercy in spades
No one can seem to see
The beauty that around us, be
I can not simply say ,they are blind.
That they will probably be left behind.
None the less it is there
You don't see it because you don't dare.
Maybe just dont care
Been here since the start of time,
Throughout history, so many a rhyme.
Took a
chance
Caught a glance.
Changed my life.
Sought to avoid all the strife.
Learned you have to be kind.
Give others some peace of mind.
Life, has no rewind.
We are not all the same.
each hold some blame.
Look beyond the game.
Understanding is the way it will start.
Understanding opens the heart.
Starts a new fashion
Compassion.
Using ones time helping another,
For each is a brother
Just a different mother.
Time can not be better spent.
To be heaven sent.
A helping hand
Someone who can understand.
If one and all
Simply learn to stand tall ,
We pass through the wall
And all shall see
The beauty that truly be.
One plus one equals three or more
This is how we open this door.
This is when humanity will start to soar.
Imagine that if each one of us
A stone of goodness, daily, would lay
How rapidly a stair we could build
To take all of us to God's doorway!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
19 November 2022
He sat in the doorway of the empty shop
Daily for so many years
Unwashed and foul smelling
Often the object of disgust and sneers
He held out his old enamel cup
To make a dollar or two
To buy a little food and drink
Just to get him through
His face was worn and weathered
Though his eyes were a beautiful blue
A handsome face he still possessed
Despite the toll and hardship his body knew
I often wondered about his story
How he came to have no place to call home
I would never know the reason
The doorway lay desolate and alone
mythical doorway
camouflaged by verdant ferns
leading to my soul
We enter and exit
through the vision –
what we see, and
what we deny; never
knowing what is there;
nearsighted and a-far –
born unclear, our focus
a gradual ascent – eyes, not
a victory, but what they show
us of the world outside, unseen;
birth is a doorway ajar – the
vehicle, and not the journey;
the thrust, but not the fuel;
born to die so that we may
live...passing through and
beyond in recyclable
increments....
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