Well, with 6 more poems left - including today's, I think this month has been quite successful, if I do say so myself. But, I shall employ some advice from an old professor friend of mine: "Do not die on the side of the mountain." What should be pretty plain is that she meant for me to stay the course and buckle down, do the work, and don't let IT - whatever "it" may be - get the best of you. Sound advice when times get a little tough...or for when you're prepping for a really long bike ride that you know will have lots of hills.....
But what does that have to do with today's poem? I have no idea. I haven't written it yet. That theme may pop up, it may not. I have no idea - that's kind of the whole "poetry adventure" thing we're on here. So all you hep-cats out there put your mittens around your kttens and awaaaaaaaaay we go!!!
Before the Door
Heavy, old, battered and beaten,
the old door stands before me,
Hinges rusty on their pins,
bleeding down the wood.
It is a door the like I have never seen -
the lumber, unknown to me,
no marks to tell me of its maker.
No clue what lies behind it,
I only know that I must go through.
My hand trembles on the latch.
It feels solid, well-made,
the work of an artist,
a creator, a craftsman.
I try the latch and it opens,
the rusted hinges
swing open noiselessly,
there is nothing but darkness on the other side.
And I must go through.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
1 comment:
Kinda foreboding, but it works. A nice poetical exercise on transitions, perhaps. I think your rhythm works well here, brief snippets of action, of thought. Old English-y, in a way.
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