Doors
She always feels doors are closed to her,
an outsider, too timid to knock.
Her brother just glides through them
as though they don't exist
and her friends hammer at them,
proclaiming their entrance with fizz.
Some doors, of course, are best left shut,
they hold unwanted demons
that will spark off heaps of troubles
and some are best ignored
for beating at them
will just result in tears.
My door is a bright yellow, easily seen.
It's open to friends and closed to enemies.
It has a big letterbox for greeting cards
but not for bills
and a DO NOT DISTURB sign
for salesmen and the weird.
Doors keep you warm in winter
and cool in summer,
they may protect you,
but sometimes hem you in.
Doors are two way streets,
or dual carriageways.
poem by Ruth Walters
Added by Poetry Lover
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