The Door

Poem by Cam (Squid on through to the other side)

There is a door, located near the mountain crest.
It opens and closes, as anyone would guess.
In the middle resides a compass pointing east, and west.
The door has no foundation,
Written upon its surface a dark incantation.

The grass grows high up the wood planks,
As leaves gently fall around its boundary.
Through the seasons it warps and cranks,
But there, it will always be; by the abandon foundry.

Looking upon the rustic stained core,
There rests by its floor a violet rose.
It reminds me of my heart, a fragile nevermore.
Does it still open,  or does it close?
Out in the cold, warped and froze.

There is a door near the west.
It sits upon the changing landfills,
While ravens mingle, and come to rest.
Where once a stranger placed golden daffodils.
“love is the answer, Who will pass the test?”
Her words forever echoed among the hills.

the-door

 

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2 thoughts on “The Door

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