I want to go in,
but I cannot open the door.
within is the warm I need.
Yet,
the handle is hard to turn,
and my strength lies in the rust of time.
I cry out for someone to help me.
And as the people come and go from the door,
they look at me,
and continue on.
And time passes with them.
And I cry out in vain,
I live without hope of going in the door,
I cannot open.
The Glass Ceiling
Here, you are only allowed to go so far.