Poetry
0

Death’s Doorknob

Grasping,
The frail patient
Reaches yonder —
For the slippery metal handle,

Which closes out
One existence
And opens up
Another.

With fingers stretching
And attempting
To close in
On this mysterious handle,

The bearer’s soul
Wanders in and out
Of desire, fright, anxiety.

Until at last
With quelled resistance
And acceptance of inevitability,

The firm grasp is made
The handle turned…
And the one dream fades
Into a new awakening of the other.

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