Gift of the Unlatched Door

Gift of the Unlatched Door

You came to me,
not as light peeking through the clouds,
not as a ray of hope shooting down
from an ominous sky.
No, you didn’t come to me that way. 
You were the light behind a door, once bolted,
but with the weight of my loneliness, or yours,
leaning. 

Somehow, we were led to the same door,
and when one of us leaned in, the other turned the latch,
and the door flew wide open, both of us standing there
dumbfounded, bathing in the warmth
of something long missed,
flooded with emotion of long pent up loss,
and not to be trite, but
the glow really was
magnificent.

The mushroom cloud of hope and possibility
still welling up inside,
nearly brings me to tears when I think
how close we came
to pushing on the wrong door, to seeking love
from those who have none to give.  Then I remembered,
we’ve pushed at doors unwilling to open,
seeking where nothing was offered,
And this gift of the unlatched door
has been a balm in a decade of
ambivalence.

Okay, maybe our meeting wasn’t
the explosion of light I have imagined it to be,
but then, you tell me,
how much more brilliant the light,
when one’s eyes have grown accustomed
to the dark. 


12-18-14
SWPoet

To those who seek and find,
and recognize the gift of the unlatched door.