Each day I passed your door
you called to me
and I in turn
called to you
I changed each route
to pass your door
and hear
your voice
Your door meant more to me
than where I was going
so why did it take
so long
to see the door
was open.
In a list
A contest entry
- in the dialect of doors by Nicolette.
1050 points, ended August 27, 2008, 28 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Oh yes, it's those doors that are open, the ones we didn't see or walked through that stay with us... like an unsung song. A lovely touch of nostalgia here..yes a bittersweet feel about this poem. A very nice take on the contest theme - thank you for this entry.
~ Nicolette
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Bittersweet! A bashful passerby drawn to a warm hello, or were you stalking... just kidding. This is very well done, simply stated with lots of room to let our imaginations do the follow up story.
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Thge door is always open sometimes we get side tracked,
now come back and hear me sing.
Love this
and you
Passions
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...in response...because sometimes we want the door to be open so badly that we don't actually believe that it is even when we see it with our own eyes! How can that door be open to me? Who am I that I should be worthy enough to step through it? Why do we torture ourselves with our stupid inadequaces and con ourselves out of the happiness we really deserve? You know, quite often the person leaving the door open is doubting themselves also...they probably torture themselves with: "why won't they step through my door? Am I not good enough?" and so on...
A very interesting write my friend! Quite the thinky think!
Dari xxx
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Hmmmm... (darn it, now I'M beginning to sound like Allan!)
I remember doing just that, making it so I always had to pass a certain person's house.
Sisterly bunnies:
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An interesting write. Nice job.
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