The Door

The Door

Deep within the bowels of the earth,

The door refused to move.

Decorated by bulwarked locks,

Sturdy crossbeams spanned its breadth,

Heavy hinges long-since rusted,

Its only window cracked and clouded.

The color of oilslicked water,

Its corrugated surface betrayed its age.

Not a soul knew what nor when it was locked,

As none were left to tell,

For time had washed them all away,

And with them, the secrets behind the door.