What's the mystery
Of the black door?
What are the three
Big grey locks for?
And The space behind,
What does it store?
Nobody is sure,
Not even myself,
Not anymore.
I know many,
Who tried to get inside
And find what's behind,
To trail for any detail,
Yet most fail.
And Perhaps,
It's preferred that way;
To conceal the contents
And Keep them hidden
Away, From display.
Because,
I've sat serene in between,
Behind the scene,
Observing the screen
Without being able
To intervene,
And I've seen the obscene
Reality, that is:
The closer travelers
Get to the knob,
The quicker they become
Willing to stop,
And the further progress
They come to achieve,
The faster They decide
To turn around, and leave.
YOU ARE READING
Euthanasia {poetry}
PoetryMany stories (some are personal some are not) told by my weird style of poetry, If you like mystery and enjoy reading poems, this book is for you.
