A deep poem about a door in my mind and what it means to me. |
-The Door- by Keaton Foster Rusted frame Out of place Deep within my mind Endless and sublime The door Where does it go I dare not know What’s on the other side Can never be told Once its threshold is crossed Forever tight does it close Refusal is my solemn right My way to resist The obvious nature Of all that is implied Who holds the key Certainly it’s not me Who placed it there Building it with great care Fortifying each detail Impenetrable in every way Could it have been God Or my imagination Are they one and the same Such questions are the foundation Upon which I am built The implications are great Yet I continue on The hinges holding it in place Solid, devoid of shape Crafted from one fluid piece Not a single steel bolt Can been seen Almost as if was cut to shape From a single tree Rigid to the core Out of place is a small peep hole Open and exposed I could go look and see What is out there Beyond all space and time But I fear what it shall mean Comfortable my present life seems I dare not approach No closer will I step For it might open wide Exposing me to what I am not ready to know I stand quite a ways back A lifetime and then some Never to take another step Until I am ready Until life spends me away Until all that is left is change In this present time I am not done With here and now Until then I will not Find my way to know What is behind the door Deep within my mind I will not approach From afar I will imagine What is being held back And what is being contained Beyond its shape… The Door Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2012. |