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Kat Aug 2018
What if there's a door that's always sitting there.
The surface is bare.
And it carries a mysterious air.
No matter what people do to the door that just sits there.
The next morning the door is always repaired.

Something so curious like the door.
Everyone finds it a bore.
After all it's just a boring old door.
After seeing the damage disappear you would think people would write lore.
But the door isn't interesting, the door is a bore.

The door's been places.
The door has guarded libraries full of bookcases.
The door has seen everything from schools to fireplaces.

Whenever the place, the door has been goes away,
the door is always there insistent to stay.
But eventually the door gets found and gets transported away.

The door doesn't change.
The door is always a door but no one thinks it's strange.
But the door moves from place to place.
No one knows where or which door frame the door will choose as a base.
I showed my English teacher and he liked it
William Keckler Dec 2014
To go through a door -
which is all you can do -
with thought.

And yet - this is how
you think you were born -
if you are clumsy of thought -

only if -
you believe your mother
a simple door.

She is not.
eugenisms Sep 2012
Nobody knows that he's in pain
That he silently cries every now and then
What went wrong?
Why does he feel so alone?

Mom and Dad broke up when was just a kid
Back then, he had no idea why they did
And no matter how much Mom and Dad explain
he couldn't understand
You make a family, make a child
then leave everything behind?
But he still tried his best even though he's wounded
Loving his parent though they're separated
But now he ask if it was ever worth the fight?
Was it worth crying for every night?
Now the family's gone, Mom and Dad found a new home
Leaving him here and there, wounded confuse and alone

Cry, cry little boy
Don't you wish everything was just like a toy?
That you can throw away whenever its broken
And buy a new one like nothing happened

And he grew up without someone to show him the way
Holding on to himself to survive each day
He taught himself how to fight and defend
from people whose kindness was just pretend
from people who promised to stay til the end
but was just there when there's money to spend
And so he became selfish, rude and learned how to lie
He was strong and independent but afraid to die
Because he's still hoping that Mom and Dad would patch things up
And from this horrible nightmare he'll finally wake up
But he found out Mom had a baby
So did Dad from his new family
He was shocked caused it happened so sudden
And now he's  just one of the children
So he tried to grow up, tried to mature
Cause Mom and Dad just had a babies they can't ignore
He tried to understand that they were lonely
that in order to forget they had to make a new family
And so he lived his life like any other teen
Cause the family that he wanted is nothing but a dream

So he smoke,drink
Til he cant think
Think of want went wrong
While Mom and Dad sleep tight in their new found homes



It came to a point that he felt like dying
Cause he doesn't feel happy even if he's trying
He tried to smile  to hide it all
His jokes and laughs was a great big wall
Cause inside he was about to fall
It was hard for him to wake up each day
Without a Mom or a Dad to ask him if he's okay
Without someone to comfort him when he cry
Without someone to save him when he's about to die
Every night he asks God what's His plan
for putting him through things far more than what he can
He asks God if His really there
Does He see his sufferings, or He just dont care
And so he went on with his life not knowing when will it end
But he's still happy cause he got some friends
but its not enough to stop his tears
they were not enough to relieve him of his fears
So he learned to count on to no one  but himself
and he learned to ignore everyone else
He learned that you create your own happiness
as much as you create your own sadness
He tried to live only for him
Cause in the end, only the selfish will win.

He can't cry anymore, so cut his wrist
Hoping that the pain will lessen at least
So he can sleep and prepare for the day ahead
So he can walk around with a smile on his face
So that everyone wouldn't notice that he's been long dead

-2010
CK Baker Oct 2017
a slow walk up centennial
and i still can’t find the place
it's menacing cold, and muted
and the street sweeper and winter breeze
move the turkish blend and dust pack

a novice mixed duet plays
brahms on broken strings
an erhu and overcoat
veiling the blue heeler and sphinx

maggianos is settled in the center block’s
luminance and seasonal drape
it's festive warmth bringing home bedford falls;
the flavour and character and social circles

annie’s playing and the keeper's singing
(his word pool and slander
raising everyone in arms!)
the crowd chants and mayhem breaks
as crawlers and contemporaries
smash their steins

dark alleys and dripping holes
hold a grim reminder of the pierced underside
paddies flutter and forge their words
with a broad manifesto

night gardens come alive
(slowly sapping the respite)
hunched figures and ladies in lace
shuffle inside the big orange door
Vicki Kralapp Oct 2018
I step into the crispness of the Door, just past the peak of color,
and the smell of smoked wood fills the air.
Trees draped in yellow ochres and burnt siennas
overlook the paths and sidewalks of dappled leaves.

Lake Michigan, angry teal with late fall wind,
rolls in against massive rocks skirting its shores.
Whitecaps, balancing on the tip of each wave,
surf their way into shore and crash against breakwaters.

Winds whistling through the silver of leftover leaves
flit each like whirlybirds as they reflect the midday sun.
Feathered cattails, backlit against the morning sun,
line the roadsides while they wave goodbye in the wind.

I breathe in the color as it fades against the afternoon sky,
while collecting the stunning hues in photos and tasty delicacies along the way.
I bid farewell to the fish boils, cherries, apples,
and views of magnificent bays as I make my way back home.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Tom Spencer Aug 2018
moon faced
door mat cat

velvet tent ears
and stripes

faintly glowing
in the kitchen light

eyes track
my routine

paws tucked-under
quiet, waiting


Tom Spencer © 2018
Mike Nov 2018
To open one's mind
Would be to seek out what closed
It in the first place
My assumption is that we weren't all born with the intolerance we may have for those we don't understand. But if we could understand what closes us off to others and deconstruct it, we allow ourselves the opportunity to take time to think for ourselves. When we make time to do this, we may just realise what or who we closed ourselves off to had never been a threat to our being at all.

The mind is a door, longing to be opened.
Dilsha Kawindi Nov 2017
Smooth, silky hair tied in a high ponytail
Clear lip gloss
Fingernails painted pale pink
The perfect girl next door
Pastel cardigans and sweaters were her thing

Waking up with red, swollen, puffy eyes
Staring at her reflection in the mirror for hours
And reappearing fresh cuts on her wrist
Yet no one knew the blackness growing darker in her

What's done is done
No way to go back in time
A little attention would've been sufficient to stop it
But to be fair
She got it in the end
As her body laid on the ground
With blood gushing out of her hand
Flavia Nov 2013
Once upon a day or night -- Wait, it was day, there was a light
a light, which shone upon a moonlit drive so dark and drear.
At keeping track, I'm sadly slacking. Forgive my memory, it is lacking
memoirs of this day of days I could not -- would not -- hear.
But now alas, alan, alack, something gruesome did attack, my dear.
Something's **** head did rear.

Indistinctly, I remember, was it June? July? November?
Moments burn together as I recollect the fear.
And though he knows it gets to me, he will never set it free,
the truth of all the memories I used to hold so dear.
The truth you chose to hide from me for days, turned months, turned year.
But no, I will not shed one tear.

He held my hard heart high in flutter. Stomachs full of bread and butter.
Our love could not be jaded, for he traded tea from beer.
And though we were the oddest pair, I thought by now he would not care
how people chose to say their puns of nuns and hateful jeer.
Of wolves and sheep, of awkward sleep, of hunters hunting deer.
I thought we had our life in gear.

Sadly, though, I was mistaken. Blast, that awful wretch has taken
my whole soul and everything I previously thought mere.
He broke it off, and with a cough confessed, a darkest truth repressed
of everything, how twas a lie, and that the end was near.
And with four words, a looking glass of sorts he handed me to peer.
These the blue-eyed snake hath spoke: "Honey, I'm a queer."
Dated a guy who turned out to be ***? Here's the poem for you. In the style of "The Raven".
Skylar Del Re Jul 2015
i just want to be yours for today
let time and space float away
i just want to step inside your mind
read through your thoughts like pages in time
i want a piece of you to remember
a part of you i can forever treasure
there is but a moment in our prime
so many passages to discover and unwind
the morning dew rises
and the early bird sings
fading moments drifting into memory
i'll keep the light on
you can always come inside
i'll be your shelter
when there's no where else to hide
your words flow through me
sweet music transcending in beauty
is it fate
or should we wait?
let history unfold
heavy heart dipped in gold
but you can sing
you are the song echoing through me
Cindra Carr Jul 2011
Broken marriages have broken lives
******* up premises and high wire ties
Failed attempts to clear the air
Bring murky clouds in distant eyes of lies
I see you there clinging too hard
You see me here shedding the weight
Of your desperate grasp on my arm at the door
Lots of lives lead separate days
Clear up your eyes and let me go through

cc070311
Brie Pizzi Oct 2018
When I think of change in my own life
I think of doors surrounding me
suffocating me
almost

with each change that occurs in life
I open a different door
creating an entirely new set of doors to choose from

but with endless amounts of doors
how do I begin to choose which to open?

some doors are already cracked open
while others are locked shut

some doors are freshly painted
while others are cracked, peeling at the touch

so how do I decide?

how do I decide between
opening the already cracked door
or finding the key to the locked one

how do I decide between
opening the new door
or the door that's falling apart

because
regardless of how it looks on the outside
the inside is unknown

you can pick the easy door
but easy isn't always worthwhile

you can pick the appealing door
but appealing isn't always logical

the doors surround you daily
waiting for you to decide
growing impatient

do you rush and pick a door
and risk opening the wrong door

or do you wait
in an attempt to plan out every possible option
resulting in you feeling stuck
frozen in place
unable to move
unable to choose

feeling stuck may be miserable
but looking back and regretting your decision
wishing you could turn around and go back is just as bad
isn't it?
Pagan Paul Feb 17
.
I have one hand on the handle of the mad sane door,
the other is scraping shards on the missing floor,
my mind dissolves away into a hurricane squall,
and my face is the mirror on a stark naked wall.

My life is a fluid flowing through images weird,
dripping through the cracks, tactile and veneered,
pouring dark thoughts into a head once cleared,
the door whispers promises of nothing to be feared.



© Pagan Paul (14/12/17)
.
repost
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m h John Jul 31
you wanted a house
built out of hope and bricks
a house where you could call home
after losing your way
and becoming homesick
because you couldn’t find yourself

after we went through the storm
the rain washed the hopefulness
from the carpets

the bricks
turned to sticks
which turned to flames

and burned down all the door frames
except the red from the door
which you handmade
from the scars on your heart
Matterhorn Nov 2018
An empty room,
Full of ancient boxes
And *******
And other discarded things,
Accumulated over
Years and years;
But still, emptiness.

I return to this
Room more often than not
When I am
Trying to remember them,
Remember the things I
Left behind;
But they are gone.
© Ethan M. Pfahning 2018
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