Houses with many doors.
Each open and close in time.
And some will remain closed.
Barred shut and fastened with ancient locks.
Some open only once, creak in protest from rust and neglect,
and then are closed forever.
Others open frequently,
and will do so until worn out; transients rushing to and fro; unaware.
Some refuse to shut; a shifted foundation and crooked jamb.
And some are merely stuck.
Some open to darkness and are opened by the same. Yet some to light, but few and far between.
Latches and bolts. Levers and hinges.
Framed about our bodies; our minds. Some are opened with a shout.
Others with caveat.
Though one remains and longs for the Whisper; a solemn door opened by its Creator's breath; the slightest breeze turned gust and gale. Inspiration is the breath of Life and
here is found the Heart's door;
its key, Love.
There are no comments posted here yet