There has been a riot in the streets
a hustle of talk,
and gossip, and rumours
wonders of who was behind all those doors.

Every now and then
there'd be a new door on the street
a door that leads to nowhere.

Some nights it'd be a nice new door,
with a stained glass window
or a thick coat of paint.

Other nights it'd be just a ratty old one,
looking like splinters held together by the sheer will
of the painter.

The artist.

There have been talk of
where those doors might possibly lead to;
Wonderland, perhaps.
Narnia, maybe.
Hell, some say, coz it's the Devil's door.

I brush those thoughts away
when I watch the brush carefully
making sure to get the details just right.
Been feeling a little edgy tonight.

I decided to make it simple tonight;
nothing fancy,
nothing showy,
nothing fierce.
A simple wooden door.

Some people call me crazy,
scrambled in the head,
coz I paint doors onto brick walls
night after night.

That I do, night after night,
with emptiness and hope,
waiting for the day something good
will break through those walls,
and through the cracks of the doors I've painted.

That the impossibly good will find us.