Before The Final Threshold

I stand within my house and gaze about me
Faded walls surround comfortable furniture
While family members hang gazing across the room
At distant horizons across hardwood floors
Stairways climb or drop down throughout
Disappearing around corners
Guided by old wooden banisters
And everywhere there are doors.

Through the doors are endless possibilities
Some lead to bright places and busy streets
Some lead to darkness and ruin
So many, that a lifetime cannot reach them all
Many I entered and could not go back
Still others I can no longer find
While a few bear bloody scratches and teardrops
Those will no longer open to me.

A number are familiar and frequented often
Like the door with the garden to the gate
That leads to a grassy hillside beneath an old oak
Where I often sit in thought or share time with friends
Others I may open and stand on the threshold
Gazing at what lay beyond but am unable to cross.

So many doors
So many thresholds.

While at the top of a long rickety staircase
Stands the one I am not ready for
Glowing with a faint blue nimbus
Some call it the final threshold
I myself feel that when the time comes to cross it
It will be only to enter a new house
Until then, before that final threshold
I will continue to wander with or without purpose
Opening doors and crossing thresholds
In this, my house.