My Door is Closed

Sand falls, shifts, lays in wait.
The sun bakes the ground over and over and
over again. Lines crease the skin, here and
there, where tears have strayed. Life turns,
and my door is closed.
Never a show of love. Never a show of joy.
Persistence and hope are packing there bags,
and there is only so much time. And still my
door is closed.
There is no pitter patter. There is no
laughter. There is fear, and not much room
for anything else. And still my door is
But a thunderous cry from the horizon,
jubilant and fierce, fills the air. And
slowly, a pitter patter becomes a drum roll
of the heavens. Freedom rattles the chain on
the gate, and the links shatter in it’s
grip. And as Hope and persistence prick up
their ears, my door is no longer closed.

KJ Rath May 2005

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