The Door (A Poem)

There's a door in my mind that's opened many times,
And it sits in my front room too.
There's a door in my heart that's slammed so many times,
And it sits in my front room too.
Wherever I go I carry it inside,
With oppurtunities and pain.
It tells a story so dear because I've always had it,
But it's broken and painful and I've about had it.

See this door has a problem that it can never shake,
Always pushing and pulling trying to break,
But I know if it breaks I'll break too,
And if I break others will break too.
So I patch up the cracks with mortar and paint,
Trying to hide all my shame,
But instead I am covered in pain.
That door knows that one day it will get me,
So it waits always opening and closing.

Every time that door opens I am uncertain,
And when it closes it gets worse.
Inside and outside, people always moving,
Will they come back?
It's unknown.
And in my heart and my mind it shows two things
How slowly I'm breaking and how much I cling.
Shattered in fragments, all but that door.

I hate that old door because it's always moving
Opening, closing, cracked and slamming,
Never stays the same.
But it's like a river and that's like life,
You can't expect it and that's the way.
Oh but I love that old door because no matter what it is doing
It's always uncertain.