The Door

The Door

Never showing a glimmer of inside,
A wall in all but name.
It matters not, I still decide,
To love you all the same.

This closed portal that entices my mind,
Fixed shut, steadfast and sure.
Though intentions are more than kind,
I am forever poor.

Worshipped, adored, in all kinds of esteems,
Oh, that I could say more.
Hopeless wishes, desperate dreams,
Lay dying, at the door.

Behind, withholds the happiness I seek,
Bountiful in its store.
Yet, no shudder, nor shake, nor creak,
The still, unmoving door.

The tide is out as the Moon wanes,
Waves recede from the shore.
I’ll walk this land,
But my heart remains
Here, outside, the door.

by Sam Bartle 
(© Copyright  Sam Bartle 2022)

About the poem:

First published in 2022 by Lothlorien Poetry Journal.