The Secret Lives of Doors #WritePhoto

These silent sentinels, keepers of our secrets

they wait for our footsteps, the turning of a lock

You are home, they breathe as we pass through

with nary a thought to their waiting

They sniff the air for the scents we carry

The bakery again, that kind of a day?

No, not the news, love, play your music

the dancing kind, it’s been too long

There now, isn’t that better?

Will the children come again?

Their laughter tickles

Will she come along, trailing her strawberry scent?

If she knocks, will you let her in?

You really should, you know

Don’t pretend you don’t miss her

You with your dark rooms and moods

that never ends well

She’s here

Open the door, love

Trust me

Open the door, love

It’s time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

9 thoughts on “The Secret Lives of Doors #WritePhoto

    1. Thank you so much for commenting and liking my little verse. It is sort of an ode to personification of the inanimate. When I see doors, I think of what goes on behind closed doors and of who has passed through them. I love old houses. I imagine the peoples’ lives, what they’ve seen and lived.

      Liked by 1 person

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