brushing my hand against the coarse grain
brings back memories of yesterday
the old wood was painted white
nimbly finished with imperfections

through the frosted glass center
a soft glowing light would show
the warm compassionate touch
that lightly soothes me to sleep

i never minded the creak of the hinge
or how imprecise the handle was,
i miss it’s slanted suspension
and how you would lift to latch it

the wood that replaced it
was polished to perfection
and standardized like the rest;
no different than others of it’s kind

there was no glass i could gaze through
the knob would click with precision
however it had a surprising charm
brought by memories of passing through

i assumed that this frame
would be the last i pass through
but life had different stories
and characters to introduce

eventually i became burned out,
fatigued and growing indifferent
for the different walkways
i had been nudged into

hesitant to try something new
the lock remained sealed to the outside
yet a light filters though the cracks
slowly enticing me for more

finally i have become comfortable
with the volatile directions
and i wonder what’s the next door
that i walk through in life