if a lock
(a door)
needed key to enter
then thought must exit.
and ivy gold,
silver gold thoughts
through an oaken wooden door that we never enter.
though keys need locks to be something,
doors just need handles,
and little holes for air and memory.
back through the present,
things lose space
and time.
except in the locked room we hide in,
that nobody enters
(maybe a dream.)
why wouldn't (why couldn't)
we leave it locked
so dreams,
and thoughts
and bubblegum drops would never
ever
leave this constrained perfect room.
and never,
could ever,
bother our thoughts.
we live behind a door,
with holes for air and thoughts,
that nobody passes through (except for a few dreams.)
we live behind an old, oaken door
that never concerns passerby
beyond that oaken wooden door -
where dreams, and thoughts, and air may enter -
we live, behind.
and locked up, with an ivy key
YOU ARE READING
Part the World
Poetrythey called him a child and disordered for wanting to get out a series of poems meant to bridge the gap between the night sky and the blue ocean. from many people who have seen both and are hoping to change the entire world with words alone. they s...
