A leap and a look
A mean little crook
A tiny little key
Running home freeThis old abandoned lock
Only a small block;
Of brass and tin
To let people inOr out, as the case may be
To let them flee
Into the land of dreams
And silent screamsUnder lock and key
No one shall find me
The entrance closed
A hand posedA click and a turn
A small little burn
Eating a heart
Shooting a dartThis burglar, is he,
This one criminal-to-be
One who knows that
Force is at the nod of a hatBut force is bad for doors
From the ceiling to the floors
Hurt it gives the wood
As not it shouldAble to resist it all
Until misfortune fall
And this tiny little man,
With this horrible little plan:To make a crack straight down,
Like an axe upon a former crown;
To add to the multitude of apparent scars
By the light of the moon, alongside the starsHinges rusted and worn,
Inviting smirk and scorn
Knob abraded
Grain quite fadedA trusted friend
'Til the very end
A wooden core,
But heart made of golden oreLove,
Your faithful DoorI wrote this as I was thinking about how many things we take for granted. Doors, for example, protecting us from burglars, storms, etc. I hope that you will think about this poem the next time you want to assume something is a given. We should count our blessings before they hatch.
(And yes, I understand that I'm mixing metaphors.)