Doors

The gears click

spin

twirl into place

the momentum of thousands of dreams

swinging

gliding

leaping

across the vast emptiness we call home.

The dreams

along with hopes

fears

interests

slowly fill the hollow universe

shaping and modeling and building

creating worlds of their own

until each subconscious has a secret hiding spot,

a place where they'll never be found,

never be caught.

The hiding spots morph into doorways,

and more and more appear

until it is an endless and twisting maze of doors

a garden flowing with curiosity and unique shapes of all sizes

colors of all palettes

mixing and swirling on the plain white canvas

always different each time.

The garden of doors

each and every entryway varies

each and every one different in its interior.

Some as simple as pink lemonade clouds on a tangerine sky

others as complicated as worlds full of strange hairless animals that are war addicts

but every

single

one

is different.

Calico Frost

VT

13 years old

More by Calico Frost

  • Routine

    Create

    writing

    medium or genre

    poetry

    body

     

    this is my routine;

    come home from school

    open to this the first chance I get

    write.

    Write 

    write 

    write 

  • Questions

    I'm

    confused

    did I do it

    what happened?

    You were melancholy earlier

    what is going on

    what did I miss

    was it me?

     

    You talk in subtle hints

    but what are you hinting at?

  • Beauty

    The world is muted

    muffled

    as the snow sprinkles your hair

    lice,

    you remember a friend calling it once in 5th grade

    you got mad at him for that.