Gaps in the Door
The thing is, rust and ruin draw me in.
Life and things laid raw.
Broken things still holding a vestige
of beauty, or what they were.
Never mind the broken glass.
I am drawn in. At times,
I will even break in, a stealthy thief
taking away the images and memories
left there to be forgotten.
It has become a mission, to ensure they are not.
Never mind the doors with their chains.
Often the chains are as rusted as the doors. As easily broken.
Never mind the doors frozen shut,
Enough pressure, or enough patience –
most doors can be broken through.
I have become adept at fences,
which rarely have to be climbed.
More often there is a place of undoing,
fence and pole or ground separated just enough
I can climb through.
In my mind,
and I am not saying I am right,
only that it is the way I am wired,
the gaps are an invitation
I rarely ignore.
About this poem
Regular readers and friends know I have a thing for abandoned buildings. Factories, Mansions. race tracks and mental asylums. They draw me and my camera in. Today’s picture was taken at the old power plant at Niagra Falls. At the time you could, with a bit of wiliness, get in. (Today they have it locked tight).
So a poem about that. And a poem about how we sometimes find our way into people whose walls are high. Very often, there is a gap and if we are fortunate, we find our way in.
Poetry is never about one thing.
Be well. Travel wisely,