Doors Unlimited [sonnet]
If everything we think and do and say
was not designed to fight against the core
of who we are (we baulk in every way
our soul’s intent) we’d stumble through a door.
That door is not a threshold made of wood;
no handle does it have which you can turn.
But when it came ajar, I understood
that if I ventured in, so much I’d learn.
But thinking this was just another room
to wander round and then stay in its space,
the more my growing light shone in the gloom
the more doors I could see around that place.
So now I know each time I see a door
that just one portal leads to thousands more!
© Alan Morrison, 2016
The Naked Troubadour 