Beyond the Door

Iíve always wondered what was beyond that door.
Through the years, as winter nears, I look at it more.
I wondered the door, standing in snow, the outside.
The air, transparent, sky painted blue. But beyond the door, what lies?

I walked around the wall, with freeze-dried eyes, seeing what was to be found.
Slowly, imprinting the snow, without making a sound, my conscience fully wound.
All my wonder, surrounds and plunders, the door.
But past the icy lake, through the frostbitten gate, what lies?

I look behind me, the snow touched light.
My left and right, no person in sight.
And so I near, the roof with icicles, the siding mold, the knob I hold.
Nearing the house, with the wind so cold.

And there it is I wait, along my freezing state.
The door flies open itself. Along the shelf of ice, and soon I see my fate.
My wondered chilled, for time it killed. Itís bad to wait.
And soon I see, with my eyes, free from lies.
A freezing bore, and the snow knit floor.
And nothing behind the door.

Copyright © January 1st 2002 Joseph Michael Egan