literature

The Journey of a Thousand Doors

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Literature Text

The corridor is backlit with a thousand darkened hues
With purples and with shades of grey amidst the midnight blues
And as she wanders past the doors, she wonders if it's true
That past their oaken doorframes, there are places bright and new.

As her fingers grasp each handle, the steel cooling to her touch,
All her thoughts attack like buzzards, cleaving as they clutch,
She waits for silent moments, when their noise is not so much,
When thinking gives her clarity to find her journey's crutch.

There may be peace beyond this, where the air is not so thick,
Where each step is not weighed down by a tonne or two of brick,
Perhaps a land of joy and wonder, where no one lingers sick,
It surely cannot be that this is just a heartless trick.

The corridor is what she knows, though she has walked through doors,
She's known at least one happy tale, and felt the warmth before,
The grass beyond one lovely gate allowed her soul to soar,
As sunlight greeted arctic skin and dared her to explore.


Right now, the handles will not budge, as if they've rusted closed,
Each effort leaves her weaker still as forces are imposed,
Yet maybe you can't walk through doorways once walked unopposed,
And only stepping back from them, will more doors be exposed.


The wood of deep mahogany grows molten as the cracks,
Shine forth with a vivacity, of white light crushing black,
The doorway melts away revealing one emblazoned track,
She steps through flame and frame exclaiming “I’m not coming back!”.
A piece that came to me this morning. It is written in iambic heptameter (14 syllables, 7 feet) and it's something that means a lot to me.

Love and Light,

:heart: Sammy 
© 2017 - 2024 kiwi-damnation
Comments8
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JessaMar's avatar
The cadence and rhyme of this is very well-done, and it's a great testimony to the power of seeking something other than the known.