Poem About Locked Doors

The people inside have no water.

Poem about locked doors.

I climbed on the sill and descended outside. A blue locked door. It has all your bad dreams in it. With an iron door that can t be opened.

It has all your bad dreams in it. But at last came a knock and i thought of the door. However there is a locked room up there. Some say the devil locks the door.

And i though of the door with no lock to lock. The people inside have no water. Locked doors poem by joseph narusiewicz. But the knock came again.

And cut them off from window light. Locked rusted doors fill the soul with dread fading in the distance of an endless hall onward ever onward into eternal dark resisting their pull not heeding their call knowing behind one flickers life s spark from so many doors it s impossible to choose when endlessly new ones materialize anew open the wrong one and there is much to loose. In prayer to the door. My window was wide.

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. The time i dreamed the door was tried. When we locked up the house at night we always locked the flowers outside. Some say the angels lock it from the outside.

With an iron door that can t be opened. Unable to be opened without a key. I blew out the light i tip toed the floor and raised both hands in prayer to the door. Some say the angels lock it from the outside.

However there is a locked room up there. Life s true potential is a locked door. Back over the sill i bade a come in to whatever the knock at the door may have been. So you run like a spark of evilthe world like a snakemy eyes cry.

But the knock came again. The key that opens to what lies behind. Do not now seek the answers which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. Poem by robert frost.

With no lock to lock. I blew out the light i tip toed the floor and raised both hands. So at a knock i emptied my cage to hide in the world. My window was wide.

But that key is what lies in your hands. And brushed with buttons upon sleeves the flowers were out there with the thieves.