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An idea is knocking
An idea is knocking
but the old door
has not been opened
for quite some time.
The knob is rather dusty,
the hinges rusty;
discolored, rotted,
nearly forgotten
like the man inside.
He lacks the energy
to keep visitors
like before
when they would
talk his ears
deliciously sore.
And he worries
that with decreasing frequency,
the taps on his door
will cease to be.
Once listener
to a spectrum of pathos.
Now prisoner
to his indifference.
