The paint drips menacingly,
though long dried on that aged wall.
The rustic knob creaks.
Refusing to turn.
We sit.
And we wait.
The doors will open.
The gates, so jagged
laugh at us resting.
Their teeth taunt.
And their breath beats
never relenting.
We lie.
And we wait.
The doors will open.
And we will enter green gates
Done.
It's a weird feeling. For sure.
I know no one really reads this, but I can't help but have to pause and ponder this.
365 poems.
365 scenes.
365 memories.
Wow.
There's really nothing I can say. Except that this has taught me a lot.
And I can't wait to see what the future has.
It was fun. See y'all later.
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