There exists a door,
beautiful and radiant,
with more idealism than
a decision with no consequences.
Happiness is its name.
Its always an arrival
never a destination
because the coordinates
never stay the same,
and no matter what side you arrive on
the door always reads EXIT ONLY.
But just beyond the memories of happiness
and a few pens later,
there exists another door.
A door, gloomy and dark
with more realism than a child with no food.
It has no name, and before it you dont either.
And while your mind may blink remember that
it will adjust before the ink leaves your pen.
Sweet memories will give you nice thoughts,
and life will be something to dream about.
At least until the urge of the pen
and the call of the paper get louder,
and you are forced to account for your happiness
with the deadline of a lifetime quickly fleeing
only to notice the darkness prevents you
from seeing the paper.
That your pen had been jabbing through
the darkness all along tearing through your soul.
Mixing your past ideal memories with
your present realistic thoughts,
and sending them to the destination of your soul
at the house of poetry. |