Doors close and shutters jam hard into frames.
Knobs stick and jambs cave in to seal the deal.
Unyielding pilgrims turn, push and shove with might,
And from afar, an aside is caught up in their games.
When in weary frustration poor pilgrims finally reel,
Despair hovers o'erhead to rest upon them from its flight.

Sweat, salty and sticky trickles tauntingly into mouths agape,
Those won't shut, not with the heaving sighs of breathlessness,
For nasal canals burn hot with a fire from within.
Though lucid lungs worn so feel like a heap,
An inferno whirls the blood within with a hiss,
And no word from any angel can that power contain.

Heart-stopping voltage courses continuously.
The door was open before it closed.
Someone made the door where all else was wall.