PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Standing in the doorway,

The Junction between

Now and Then

(Future is farther down the hall),

I peer into the Past.

The Hallways of Now are 

Brightly lit, sharply focused,

Doors flung wide to memories:

Fields of green, groves of trees,

Rooms brimming with smoke and alcohol,

A quiet library filled with books,

A moan of pleasure muffled by silken sheets.

But the doorways of Then

Are few and far between.

Shadows darken that Hall,

Creeping along just inside 

Walls that seem to breathe and pulse

With a life all their own,

Veiled from the waking mind

Yet unbarred to sleep's nightmares.

It would be easy, so very easy,

To walk down that corridor, 

Flinging myself into the shadows,

Entering them to face that which is

Hidden from myself.

What stays my hand?

The knowledge that the person who enters those shadows

Might not be the same person that comes out of them.