National Poetry Month: Week 4 - The Door That Wasn't There

National Poetry Month: Week 4 - The Door That Wasn't There

Today I present you with my final scheduled poem for National Poetry Month. I really like this one, so I hope you do as well. I’ll talk a little more after you’ve read it, so enjoy…

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The Door That Wasn’t There

I walked through the woods and found

the door that wasn't there.

Plain as it was, still on the back of my neck

stood tall the hair.

Countless times in my life I've traveled

among these trees.

But today I bore witness to stairs ascending

from the leaves.

My companion, faithful as ever, by my side as I study

the staircase.

Together, we two, examine these stone steps grown

out of place.

Like something out of a castle long forgotten,

these steps remain.

Topped with a wooden door, leading to

a mysterious domain.

Temptation mounts and curiosity wins, the allure at the top

is too much.

Limit of loyalty reached, my companion runs off, but

can't fault for such.

Drawn to the aperture, an exploratory foot

tests the illusion.

Solid rock beneath boot, steps of stone,

no figment of imagination.

Step by step, I climb and climb for what

feels like an eternity.

Fifteen, thirty minutes pass, yet still the staircase

stretches to infinity.

The ground seems forever away, the dizzying height

makes me lightheaded.

Onward I climb, energy sapping, fear strikes from hat to

foot now leaded.

My ascent slows but continues onward to the wooden portal

out of reach.

The weight of my bones doubles, triples, my joints protest

with a screech.

Hunger pangs howl, further higher

I continue ascending.

Delirium sets as I stand above the birds,

my vision bending.

It started as a few steps, nothing more than a

baker's dozen.

Hours later and a hundred or more stairs, my breath

leaves frozen.

Ever loyal, my companion is back far below

begging me to return.

I should, fingers and toes numb, but deep in my heart the

desire burns.

Seasons change during my journey, the trees below now

covered in snow.

What mysteries reside behind the door,

I must know.

But I'm weak, limbs won't obey,

filled with despair.

For I fear, I'll never reach

the door that wasn't there.

Both this poem and ‘Where the Grass won’t Grow’ were based off of titles I had thought of for short stories that I could never write. Each title had been in my head for a few years, but I could never come up with the matching story. It wasn’t until this poetry exercise that I was able to finally put the titles to use, and I’m happy with both of them. ‘The Door That Wasn’t There’ always had a Lovecraftian sound to it for me, and I wanted the story I wrote for it to have that feel. I believe this poem would fit in line with his poetry.

Remember to keep reading, and enjoy life.

National Poetry Month: Bonus - When All Has Fallen

National Poetry Month: Bonus - When All Has Fallen

Hot Takes Now 4/23/2019

Hot Takes Now 4/23/2019