Tristan Robert Lange

Doors

The door to truth can never be opened

When one is surrounded by

deceptive doors,

Either they will stand paralyzed—

Fears frigidly freezing their legs

And seizing their hearts

Or they will walk through the portal

That leads to the outer weeping darkness

Where chattering teeth gnash.

They will either walk through damnation’s doors

While Listening through earplugs of apathy—

Deceived by perpetual privilege,

Or they will be immobilized

By uncertainty’s ubiquitous underbelly—

Locked in devastating death.

One can not walk in through truth

When they are surrounded

By the damnable doors of deception.

Cotton stuffed ears of comfort—

Will never ever find room to hear

Past one’s own fears.

They will either hear nothing at all,

Surrounded by the echoes bouncing

Off of their own osseous prison,

Or they will only hear

That with which their damaged ears

Are cushioned and stuffed.

Either they will only hear

The ill-advised, poisonous voices

Inside the deceptive doors,

Or they will hear nothing,

Stuck in solitary, sedentary stasis

In their own echo chamber.

One cannot stuff their ears

With the cotton of comforting conformity

And expect to get out alive.

There’s only one way to start walking

Toward the delightful door

Of divine utopic destination.

One will either open their ears,

Hear words that are hard to hear

But inevitably remove all fears,

Or they will stuff them shut

And open their ignorant mouths

Without hearing their own sound.

Either they will stuff those ears—

Filling them to the brim

In a styrofoam frenzy,

Or they will open them up,

Taking out any plugs

To face the truth head on.

There’s only one way to walk

Through the door of delightful, earthly

Peace and good will toward humans:

Love.

© 2024 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.