Art, Pen

As I stand in front of this big white door,

my shadow darkens the knob I want to turn,

and to find out what is there on the other side.

If I were a kid, and not even a smart one,

My curiosity would have knocked down my reasons

before even they knocked on my mind’s door.

A Part of me, Apart of me.

A Part of me, Apart of me.

But I am a grown man, a baked pot,

hardened by falling again and again, a clotted wound.

My outline defines me, or restricts my reach?

As I think over and over, my hands stiffens.

That temptation of touching that knob frightens me.

Fear of unknown once wasn’t such a great thing to have,

and when I convinced myslef that I can live

without knowing what’s there on the other side,

was the time when I preferred to be alive than to live,

without knowing what I’ve lost, inside me.

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Another Door Knob

Aside

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