This Door That Stands
This door that stands in front of me:
A symbol of complacency;
Or passage to tranquility,
Should I make such choice.
Barricading worlds unknown,
Where once a sun had brightly shone,
Temporary terms I own,
From diluted voice.
Shoulders braced against the firm,
This foe, whose task is not discerned,
Dividing dreams from what I’ve learned;
And trusted, not to chide.
Fatigued, sheltered become my lot,
Fearing that, in time, I’ll rot.
Sequestered lone, lest I forgot,
It opens from the inside.
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