The Dusty Old Shed Door

When I look to what is ahead,
All I feel is dread.
The impending sense of doom surrounds me,
It’s always present in the depths of my mind.
Walking past the irrational fears:
Talking presenting, feeling.
Jumping over the anxiety, disgust and sadness.
Finally,
Hurtling through the happiness, the joy and the love,
You will see it.
A dusty, old shed door.
The forest green paint is peeling at the edges,
The scratched wood barely hanging on.
Holes pole through every crevice, from years of misuse.
The eerie sound of the wind whistling through the cracks greets you.
One tiny push and the door will give way,
One tiny push and everything comes tumbling out.
But,
If you look closely: a small gold lock holds the door closed.
Made from determination, persistence and grit,
It’s a tough little lock.
The funny thing about the dusty old shed door is that;
Only I have the key to open it.