I’m standing in a doorway but it’s locked,
laced with iron grillework,
admitting light but revealing nothing
to the world without.
Although I think I was invited
my light knock remains unanswered.
I have lived all this before
and have arrived at some conclusions.
There are those who think – in false nobility –
by throwing bolts and turning keys
they do protect the world from what they harbor,
those trunks packed full with bloody linens
printed with the record of their lives.
But I have learned that what they’re really doing
is safeguarding their own frailties
from the harsh incursions of the world,
and while a part of them may long to hear
a message that might lighten dark seclusion,
when the messenger arrives the words are silenced.
So now, before another door,
no welcome mat awaiting,
I shall as I have done before
leave my small parcels to be found,
perhaps opened, perhaps not,
and then discarded.
It is a choice and never mine,
but I have bloodied knuckles knocking
in the past and never will again.
© 2013 RC deWinter ~ All Rights Reserved
Sometimes you just have to give up on people and walk away. Not because you don’t care, but because they don’t.