Daily Archives: December 16, 2002

The Doors of Perception

This is journal entry based on a prompt from Random Acts of Journaling.

The Doors of Perception

There is a door of aged and splintered oak,
its paint is faded, old and worn by rain;
the battered lock still grips, but shows the signs
of many a crowbar tried against it.

It stands against the elements and time,
a portal to a sacred, hidden place –
and there beyond its green and peeling frame
exists a world unseen from the outside.

Upon its surface, many carve their names
or failing entry, simply scratch a sign;
For though it seems a frail and rotted shell,
its core is solid wood too strong to force.

The key? A test of mettle and of will,
a silver shard cut from the seeker’s heart;
To find it is to sacrifice one’s hold
on old perceptions of reality.

There is a door of aged and splintered oak,
its paint is faded, old and worn by time;
and those who dare to open it may find
a place to live, a room to call their own.

16 DEC 2002

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A Call Out of the Blue

Out of the clear blue, a telephone call
sent my mind wandering off in free fall;
an old friend, from high school, a long time gone,
whose voice I had oft reflected upon

got my number, it seems; called to say hi,
and connect with old mem’ries and things gone by.
It was strange, and my words awkward and spare,
for it seemed like another world from there.

I’d like to imagine there is some link –
that we could meet for lunch and just one drink,
but the universe shifts, and moves its pawns
in diff’rent directions to sing new songs.

When the sep’rate pieces then meet by chance,
There’s not much to do, save falter and dance.

16 DEC 2002

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Nothing At All

Just thinking of nothing, and all that leaves
between the empty spaces of being;
for it is the nothing that one believes
that oft separates knowing from seeing.

And in that great nothing exist all things,
the small and the mighty are found there;
For each ripple leaves behind fading rings
As it finds its way back to the nowhere.

There in the great void, where the world is made
and finds its definition in the space
through the sound of its soft echo in time,
I find things in sunlight formed by shade

and the endless spirit of each filled place
etched softly in an absence most sublime.

16 DEC 2002

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