A Door- Michael Erickson

Poplar3

And now I stand upon the secret stair,

In my grasp is empty air waiting to pass within the gate.

Arched above me in the growing dark,

A doorway to a world beyond.

Do I truly seek what is beyond it?

Death? Wealth? Untold existence?

Only those who look beyond their lives will know,

I forsook the scales that cover mortal eyes,

And gaze with the awe of unending youth.

Unlock the door and let me fall into you arms,

Oh jet of the abyss.

Obsidian is a hue much longed for,

between the fragments of daylight.


Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.

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