The Unclosed Door [new poem]
I thought the door was loudly closed
forever with the tightest slam; but,
forgetful-minded man that I often am,
I did not see the gap beneath that
fatefully swinging slice of wood;
for the door, not being as sealed
and clickened as it should, could not
shut out the light from suns in far-off
friendly worlds which stole their way
below the barrier clench of bitter
fences stradling stenches wrenching
me away from where The Plan would
have me be (in tune with every word
in all my heaving hearting poetry).
On hearing sunlight flood beneath the
door I thought I’d hard & soundly closed
(especially as it then was Night)
I first was shocked and then intrigued
[although a fearful flutter deep within
my wounded soul imbued my little legs
with huge desire to wiltingly take flight
which could not be for I was rooted to
the threshold spot unflinchingly].
But there were qualities around that
glare which almost took the blindness
from my cataracted stare to such degree
that nothing I had ever seen could be
compared (nor would it ever be).
My fingers on the handle moved with
lightly-latticed joy anticipating subatomic
solarplosion. [With a jolt the door then opens].
Afterward, with no surprise, I watched the
door itself disintegrate and dwindle down
to dust while all the while a voice inside
my head said “Now you’re going to learn
to trust that I have always been your guide
even when you thought that everything
you loved had been denied”. Then the
hotness of that light which bathed my
being not only dried my tainted tears but
somehow made a fool of all the stupid fears
from which the door had first been cut and
which, in the first place, had slammed it shut.
© 2012, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 