Wednesday, August 15, 2007

aashim's third poem - gettin' better all the time


In the ground lay the door.

Shining fiercely,

Knowing it was built for more.

A crowd around it closed,

with eyes that sat

and clothes that posed.

Faith overlooked the door

speaking softly,

disguising ignorance and lore.

The door listened with aplomb.

Arms open,

for the part it had donned.

Tears flowed straight,

What had been plotted by fate.

Why the tears, why the fair?

Why the fears, why the hopes?

Why the loss and why the scare?

As the arms closed before,

the door surrendered,

to be seen no more.

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