Doors

Doors

O fate always opens a door they say

for every hinge or hand it blasts away;

O no, for every door that leaks cracked light

I say, another slams instead,and right

into the shattering face of a schlepp

who is never quite quick enough to step

back before cartilage snaps and blood gouts

coppery down his unexpecting throat.

The stinging smart of each hardwood denial

opens only doors for tears to fall in file,

a damburst that's impossible to plug

with any amount of reason’s tarry mud.

So much more sensible to sit and say

I didn't want to go there anyway.

May 2012

Posted for   Fireblossom Friday   at  real toads

Challenge: Stress

Header Image: Behind Door Number Three, by anyjazz65, on flick'r
Footer Image: Door knocker I, Carcasonne, by Stepheye on flick'r

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