door

That door, I look at it

And it stares at me back.

With it’s looking glass

And the knocks that come

Sometimes I want to open it

Othertimes I want to let it be

But regardless I sit here and stare

Time ticks off the top of the head

And wonders where it goes

But the door it never fades

Although a random riot

May sit there and try to tear it down

No. It’s there. As it sits

Infinite whiteness and solidarity

Monolithic and staring

With its single looking glass.

One day I might knock.

And see if the door is opened

By such a petty action.

But no, for now with

My lack of knowledge

For the amount of locks and

What may be outside

I will sit here. And wonder

And use the thoughts of my dreams

To sit here and speculate

What may be on the outside

And such a sad existence

Is only what one on the outside

May think.