I never saw a door I did not long to walk through,
always wondering what new thing I could discover.
Some doors are never meant to open.
Other doors creak on rusty hinges long unused.
Doors hung on oiled hinges and left wide open
beckon all and sundry to enter at will;
crowd out all meaning, and lessen the thrill.
The best doors are heavily carved with hidden meaning,
closed to all but those with strength and curiosity
sufficient to push them wide enough to pass through.
But every door is warning as well as a promise.
While rest and recovery makes me weak
I know most doors must remain shut and waiting
for my strength and health to return enough
to push open every door I see wide,
and discover what has remained hidden inside.
I cannot be patient. I have no pride.
I push to walk to doors, then push some more;
only to discover what doctors tell me.
I cannot open doors just now, but later.
Tell me what you see on the other side.
My body must rest, but my mind continues to explore.
Surely, you hear me knock-knock-knocking at your door.
annarino writes 