Poem About Locked Doors

As told to a child.

Poem about locked doors.

Back over the sill i bade a come in to whatever the knock at the door may have been. Life s true potential is a locked door. I climbed on the sill and descended outside. In prayer to the door.

With no lock to lock. But the knock came again. The key that opens to what lies behind. It has all your bad dreams in it.

And i though of the door with no lock to lock. Some say the devil locks the door. However there is a locked room up there. The time i dreamed the door was tried.

Some say the angels lock it from the outside. The people inside have no water. So at a knock i emptied my cage to hide in the world. With an iron door that can t be opened.

Do not now seek the answers which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And brushed with buttons upon sleeves the flowers were out there with the thieves. I blew out the light i tip toed the floor and raised both hands in prayer to the door. Unable to be opened without a key.

A blue locked door. My window was wide. So you run like a spark of evilthe world like a snakemy eyes cry. You become a house where the wind blows straight through because no one bothers the crack in the window or lock on the door and you re the house where people come and go as they please because you re simply too unimpressed to care.

And cut them off from window light. Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. When we locked up the house at night we always locked the flowers outside. The people inside have no water.

However there is a locked room up there. But the knock came again. But at last came a knock and i thought of the door. Locked rusted doors fill the soul with dread fading in the distance of an endless hall onward ever onward into eternal dark resisting their pull not heeding their call knowing behind one flickers life s spark from so many doors it s impossible to choose when endlessly new ones materialize anew open the wrong one and there is much to loose.

Locked doors poem by joseph narusiewicz. Some say the angels lock it from the outside. But that key is what lies in your hands. With an iron door that can t be opened.

My window was wide. It has all your bad dreams in it.