The Door

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The Door

Down the hall
Behind the door
Lies the rumors
Of the great unknown.
“A body’s there,”
Brother says.
“No, it’s a ghost,”
His friend exclaims.

Down the hall
We move slowly
Behind the door
We listen closely.
I grab the handle
I turn it
Slowly…

Carefully…
We peek inside…
I can’t believe
That what I see
Is just a wall
Staring back at me.

Down the hall
Behind the door
Lies the rumors
Of the great unknown.

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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

fluffybunniezz’s Poems (10)

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