The Door



         I want to go in,

         but I cannot open the door.

         within is the warm I need.


         the handle is hard to turn,

         and my strength lies in the rust of time.

         I cry out for someone to help me.

         And as the people come and go from the door,

         they look at me,

         and continue on.

         And time passes with them.

         And I cry out in vain,

         I live without hope of going in the door,

         I cannot open.



View seeker's Full Portfolio
allets's picture

The Glass Ceiling

Here, you are only allowed to go so far.