Nothing More Than A Door


I’m going out of my mind

looking for a way in, out,

something solid in my hand,

a handle, a knob, a brass ring, anything.


Walls do not breathe,

they do not dream,

they do not question

their need for doors.


The woods are different,

they breathe, dream,

wear their silence like a promise,

wait for us when we are closed.


We are weary of walls,

we are done with doors,

we are dreaming beyond them,

breathing back to the silence of the trees.




©Charles Ghigna

2 comments:

  1. I like "we are dreaming beyond them/ breathing back to the silence of the trees."
    Thank you.

    ReplyDelete