The Red Door

[Keanumoreira]

The red door never opens, forever in repose,

Blooming in decay, as vibrant as a rose.

Her knob remains unmoved, her body lies as shut,

A movement stirs below, amongst the hazelnuts.

 

There the tree has witnessed, as vibrant as that rose,

From ages long since passed, and where the saplings grow;

Of a bed of piece and bones, a pillow wrought with red,

With sheets a such so foul, and doused in ancient dread.

 

In this natural tomb, and propped into the air,

Raised the curled finger, the rose without a care.

And so it rested seeking, the secrets from within,

Or perhaps to be at peace, from the bullet in her shin.

 

So death was left to find her, and took her by the hand,

To gaze upon the rose, so she may understand.

“None may know beyond, and none can hope to implore;

Forever is it closed; that silent, still, red door.”

[Maharg67]

Excellent and I will be reading this again. Interesting use of symbology! :thumbsup:

[Keanumoreira]

Thanks.

[SilverDNA]

oO Have to agree with Maharg on your Freudian simbolism in this one. Did you check the site of dream symbols? (you remember the one i gave you the link sometime ago) again or was it written from observation ? Never the less this is a poem from you I like because it has social aspects and borders within it and it is shaking the bars of this cage. Thank you for a good poem Keanu

[Keanumoreira]

Much appreciated. ^^