The Door

-The Door-
by
Keaton Foster



Rusted frame
Out of place
Deep within my mind
Endless and sublime
The door
Where does it go
I dare not know
What’s on the other side
Can never be told
Once its threshold is crossed
Forever tight does it close
Refusal is my solemn right
My way to resist
The obvious nature
Of all that is implied
Who holds the key
Certainly it’s not me
Who placed it there
Building it with great care
Fortifying each detail
Impenetrable in every way
Could it have been God
Or my imagination
Are they one and the same
Such questions are the foundation
Upon which I am built
The implications are great
Yet I continue on
The hinges holding it in place
Solid, devoid of shape
Crafted from one fluid piece
Not a single steel bolt
Can been seen
Almost as if was cut to shape
From a single tree
Rigid to the core
Out of place is a small peep hole
Open and exposed
I could go look and see
What is out there
Beyond all space and time
But I fear what it shall mean
Comfortable my present life seems
I dare not approach
No closer will I step
For it might open wide
Exposing me to what
I am not ready to know
I stand quite a ways back
A lifetime and then some
Never to take another step
Until I am ready
Until life spends me away
Until all that is left is change
In this present time
I am not done
With here and now
Until then I will not
Find my way to know
What is behind the door
Deep within my mind
I will not approach
From afar I will imagine
What is being held back
And what is being contained
Beyond its shape…


The Door
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2012.