the door

The door we haven't opened yet,

Waits for us patiently,

A stone faced gaze upon us,

Sees our soul vividly,

Despite our hunger, thirst, and and longing each other,

To enter this door,

Was it meant to be?

Are we free?

Would there be an empty room, not yet filled up?

Or a smokey old pub, with but one cup?

Or a doorway to freedom, greeted with a fall,

Just a slippery slope, with no one to call.

Would the music inside drown out our love here,

Would it be void of our friends, and their joyous cheers,

These fears that we feel, it’s because the door’s shut,

And the thick wood that made it will not give it up,

But what?

Is inside?

There will come a day, our cups filled with desire,

When these worries will never outweigh our own fire,

I will open the door, with your hand in mine,

And we will both decide together, if we step through in time.