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
