A leap and a look
A mean little crook
A tiny little key
Running home free
This old abandoned lock
Only a small block;
Of brass and tin
To let people in
Or out, as the case may be
To let them flee
Into the land of dreams
And silent screams
Under lock and key
No one shall find me
The entrance closed
A hand posed
A click and a turn
A small little burn
Eating a heart
Shooting a dart
This burglar, is he,
This one criminal-to-be
One who knows that
Force is at the nod of a hat
But force is bad for doors
From the ceiling to the floors
Hurt it gives the wood
As not it should
Able 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 stars
Hinges rusted and worn,
Inviting smirk and scorn
Knob abraded
Grain quite faded
A trusted friend
'Til the very end
A wooden core,
But heart made of golden ore
Love,
Your faithful Door
I 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.)
