Laura Robin Nov 2012
this door exists,
stately and staunchly it stands,
disheartening and terrifying it remains.
the door is unlocked, yet cannot be opened,
for in it, a path in time...
one decision that can affect everything
[such as my choice to wear the necklace you adore,
which lead to you noticing me for the very first time,
or my idea to play you the song that you fell in love with,
which i can no longer listen to]
...for in this door, one path
is intimidatingly located.

every bone in my body,
every last muscle, tendon, ligament
each artery, each vein, each capillary
every single nerve,
even each microscopic cell,
implores me not to open this tempting door...

[it is almost as if my hand refuses to grasp the handle,
to unleash the unknown upon me,
the colossal chain of events that would ensue]

the immensity of the unfamiliar,
the unexplored,
tends to perturb me.
change is unnerving
and is almost as chilling
as an abandoned graveyard at midnight.

but i bring my mind back to the door,
yes! this preposterous door that i have contrived for myself.
why is the knob so easily turned?
why does it not put up somewhat of a fight,
at least jolt me suddenly,
as to frighten my curious heart?
it is a constant battle between my body
my mind
and my heart
as to which doors to open
and which ones to leave ever so steadfastly closed.
but never once has there been such a struggle
for them to reach an understanding.

somehow my heart,
[even though a fraction of me,
a fist, dripping in blood]
is prevailing for the moment.
my heart reaches for the handle,
attempts to unclose the door...
yet, with the best of its ability,
withstanding my strong-willed
and obstinate heart,
my powerful body and commanding mind
overcome this hostile takeover,
and the door remains shut.

it is my body,
my skillful mouth,
my soft, rose lips,
my elegant tongue,
and my vocal chords...
all of these pieces must
contrive the words,
conceive the change,
which will unveil the path that will forever alter us...

slowly, opening the door.

being as in love with you as i am,
i will not let you slip away from my arms right now.
but when we are not together
[i wish you’d have been there,
i needed you there
i stare at this humbling door.

if i wait too long, i’ll forever lose you;
for it is you who will make this choice for me,
opening your own door, fearless and dauntless.
Poetic T Aug 2014

                                                               ­          Inside

You're not even at my door
and still
I've made a bed for you
Behind the door are cries,
heavy swallows and closed eyes.

One. two steps out the door
no crying. Can breathe once more.
Alan McClure Mar 2011
Imagine my disappointment when,
on discovering a tiny door
in a hollow tree,
locating its miniature key
beneath a buttercup,
unlocking and opening it

I found not a world of tiny folk
not Tir-nan-Og nor Avalon,
but a spectacled man in a white labcoat
holding a clipboard
and making notes on my reaction.

"Initial shock", he jotted,
"followed by anger and suspicion.
"Likely to require counselling
"within a year."

I closed the door as politely as I could
and went back to my books.
- From Also Available Free
Vicky May 2014
They see it.
Oh, how they see it so quickly:
an open door of what's closed.
They do not know what's in there.
Do they take a peek?
Peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo.
No, they don't.
The emptiness is killing, they say;
the air is poisoned with apathy,
breath of bitter lungs.
Something is not healthy there.
Someone is sick.
But what is?
How can something be stated as sick
when they do not even see what's inside?
Based on instinct, they say.
A precaution of what must not be known.

Then off they go,
leaving the open door
once again locked.
Hillary Gurney Feb 2016
People come and go,
But memories will always stay,
As new friends come along,
To make new memories,
Of happiness,
Of sadness,
There's always room for more,
Memories are cherish,
While others walk out the door.
Copyright © Hillary Gurney February 4, 2016
RW Dennen Aug 2014
Smashing boots on doors,
splinters fall like rain.
Smashing boots on doors,
children feel the pain.
Smashing boots on doors,
granny's years of age.
Smashing boots on doors,
Mom and Dad in rage.
Smashing boots on doors,
panic sets the stage.
Smashing boots on doors,
Iraqi freedom fades.
Smashing boots on doors,
like thunder in a storm.
Smashing boots on doors,
an innocent family torn.
Smashing boots on doors,
a brand new hatred born.

RW Dennen  (c)  11/24/09
As I say war is not a natural state of man. In the year 2004
the insurgents were spilling over Iran into Iraq around border towns. This was one of the low points for our forces,
we were losing soldiers fast. I know that our troops or at least most were forced to do this. Because tracing an enemy
was most impossible and most acted in defence. This act must have traumatized a lot of our troops. Because by nature
most are good kids. They're kids to me because I'm 74.
(Not to be condocending) Thank you, go with peace.
Nicole Dawn May 2015
You are only happy
When the door of opportunity
Sits wide open,
With signs telling you
How to pass through

You are hopeless,
When the door is open,
But you can't find it

You are angry
When you can find the door
But it is locked

You are sad
When someone shuts the door
Right in your face

You are anxious
When you see the door
But are too scared to go through

You are depressed
When you lie by the door
But lack the energy to get up
And go through

This is why
Is so hard to achieve
miss pie Oct 2014
mystery unopened
red jewel knob
brilliant ruby shine
entrance telling tales

red light on
bustling bridge to wonderland
knocking knees unconcerned
she always has her way
The most beautiful of doors . Every door has a story
Grace Mar 2014
Eanie meanie minie mo
one can not decide like so
your past is gone, let it go
eanie meanie minie mo

We think they were childish games to play
yet it tells our future each and every day

Its a 50-50 shot
you could go ether way
But there is no turning back

One step in the wrong direction and you are done for
Because the key was thrown into the ocean that could only open the locked door behind you

Like hot lava
A playground game
If you stumble off the side and landed in that hot firey pit of lava you were done for

That ocean where the key was thrown into has turned into a nasty green
The waves and seaweed churning under the dark stormy sky
This is not a message in a bottle but more of a lost man at sea

Every stepping stone could result in a broken heart
A bruise
A forgotten friend

One wrong decision could cause a prodigy to die

Like Hitler
His Mother almost got an abortion
Her family told her over and over to just go through with the pregnancy
She probably tossed that decision back and forth in her mind
But her family won the match

If she had decided to go against her family I wonder where society would be today

Would there be dozens of Einsteins?
A million Madonnas?
Would there be a cure for all the cancers?
For the common cold?

Every judgement is a puzzle piece
Every step you take back or turn in the unexpected direction is another step towards your fate

Everything matters
If you had gotten one more gallon of milk you wouldn't have run out so you wouldn't have gone to the store and meet your best friend there so you wouldn't be going to that Zumba class

Then you wouldn't have met five of you new best friends and your husband

All of that for a jug of milk
An affable Irregular,
A heavily-built Falstaffian man,
Comes cracking jokes of civil war
As though to die by gunshot were
The finest play under the sun.

A brown Lieutenant and his men,
Half dressed in national uniform,
Stand at my door, and I complain
Of the foul weather, hail and rain,
A pear-tree broken by the storm.

I count those feathered balls of soot
The moor-hen guides upon the stream.
To silence the envy in my thought;
And turn towards my chamber, caught
In the cold snows of a dream.
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