I stand at the door
huge and ancient
cracked and weathered
I stand
it hangs
slightly ajar
that door
to the future… the past
I stand here
running my hands
gently over
cracked and peeling paint
splinters embed themselves
I caress this door
longing to go through
yet ever so afraid
to knock

AprilJoy
NaPoWriMo
4/20/2019