Closed doors.
We come across many open things in life, an open home, a open mind and open wounds we once leave behind. It's not what you find laying upon the open eye that really defines me or binds me to this world, but what you'll find behind me, closed doors. The pain and suffering of yesterday beats abruptly upon the door of today, whispers creak out from under the door, words I once swore never to repeat, sing a dark song of endless tears, telling me not to sleep, for my end is near, they keep me awake even though I need rest feeling tired from the constant stress. Behind these doors is somewhere no one should explore for I don't even know what's behind closed doors, so as we come to an end and the sun begins to dim another door appears, it makes no sound, the pain and suffering of today will be soon shut away and as soon as I lay to rest. Wait did you hear that? a knock upon my mind that beats down to my chest another night of restless stress.
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Comments
It's astonishing just how much you get out of the central image of this short piece of prose poetry. The 'closed door' yields so many different useful images and patterns of imagery to your inventive pen around which you've built a deep and thoughtful contemplation of your own pain.
It's very subtly beautiful.
It's great to see you're posting more work, Courtney. {I hope you're well}
J x
Thank you so much! Your beautiful words flow through me bringing much color to my day. I hope life brings you nothing but joy! You are a beautiful soul.