The Bridge of Closed Doors

I’ve closed doors that can never be reopened, and on the other side are the unborn ghosts of a lifetime together; big house, big dogs, children, and laughter.   But I know, She goes on to find someone better, to grow old with someone who can cherish her in a way I could never.  And in a way, I did that, with a graceful bow and a sidestep through the curtain, and I’m certain I’ll never be at this point again.  And it’s just as well.  Sad smile, exit left.  Chin up.  No regrets.  

I pull down each closed door and stack them one upon the other on the floor.  Each one raises me higher and takes me a bit further– planks for me to walk, out over uncharted seas in an an ever growing arc of my history, of who I was leading to who I could be.  But eventually it’s no longer one more step’  over the restless black abyss, until we plummet to our death… no it was that last moment until our long lonely walks– intersect.  And our feet are steady, and the wood holds fast.  A bridge.  Abridged. We meet– at last.

Bump it with:

The Pirate King

The Pirate King craves a woman made
of earth and stone, hearth and home.
She reminds him that even the endless seas
are bordered by mountain peeks,
and ultimately’
they do end.

She is his homestead;
the big X on his heart’s map.
She is his guiding north star.
She is hist rusty oar
and the renewed strength in his arms.
She is the wind to push him in the dead calm.
She is the lighthouse to keep him off the razor-rocks,
she is his crow’s perch
and his sandy berth in dangerous tides.

She is the dirt under his nails to remind’
him of the gentleness of her shores,
And at last with land is under his feet,
After traveling the atlas–
He returns eagerly, to her doors
to look in her eyes,
wanting nothing more–
–than her.