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michael-powersPoems
The brass is cold against the palm, A silent weight, a heavy calm. The keyhole stares with hollow eye, A silver mouth that won’t reply. I brought the words I thought would fit, The ancient scripts, the candle lit, But hinges rusted in the rain Offer nothing for the pain. The threshold is a jagged line, Where your world ends and starts with mine. I hear the echo through the wood, Of laughter where a shadow stood, Of amber light and velvet chairs, Of footsteps climbing hidden stairs. But every latch is seated deep, A promise that the deadbolts keep. I did not come to claim the hall, Or tear the tapestries from the wall. I only sought a moment’s grace, To see the firelight on your face. But seasons turn and shadows grow, Across the porch, the drifting snow. The invitation never came...... The wood is deaf to every name. So let the ivy wrap the frame, And wilder winds forget the blame. I’ll turn my back upon the gate, And leave my longing to its fate. For some doors open with a sigh, And some stay shut until we die.... The hardest part of standing still Is knowing that you never will. Michael Powers "STYXX ON FIRE "
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Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 7:31 AM UTC
NO ENTRANCE GIVEN.....
The brass is cold against the palm, A silent weight, a heavy calm. The keyhole stares with hollow eye, A silver mouth that won’t reply. I brought the words I thought would fit, The ancient scripts, the candle lit, But hinges rusted in the rain Offer nothing for the pain. The threshold is a jagged line, Where your world ends and starts with mine. I hear the echo through the wood, Of laughter where a shadow stood, Of amber light and velvet chairs, Of footsteps climbing hidden stairs. But every latch is seated deep, A promise that the deadbolts keep. I did not come to claim the hall, Or tear the tapestries from the wall. I only sought a moment’s grace, To see the firelight on your face. But seasons turn and shadows grow, Across the porch, the drifting snow. The invitation never came...... The wood is deaf to every name. So let the ivy wrap the frame, And wilder winds forget the blame. I’ll turn my back upon the gate, And leave my longing to its fate. For some doors open with a sigh, And some stay shut until we die.... The hardest part of standing still Is knowing that you never will. Michael Powers "STYXX ON FIRE "
Family lose broken
michael-powers
Written by
michael-powers
52/M/NC
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 7:31 AM UTC
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