Some prompts take time to write on, and some prompts just about ignite thoughts in a flow. This particular image unleashed the poet in me. So what really happens behind closed doors and minds?
What is behind a closed door?
If not the unformed dreams
Of a life that never was,
Or a way that should have been?
What is behind a closed mind,
Other than a million thoughts?
Those that are spoken out
and those that succumb in parts?
The secret gardens
The scarlet visions
The twining ivy and the
Poison in thoughts
Somewhere, sometime, somehow
The fragrance seeps through
Sickly sweet and sickening
beyond the strongest barriers
Of errant thoughts and broken twigs
And pensive thoughts with cloudy skies
A drizzle of hope in the midst of summer
And a ray of sunshine in the dead of winter
A moon’s song that breaks the silence
The breeze’s caress that rustles the leaves
The place where songs come from
and the place where thoughts go to,
The flowers and their fragrance
and the color of the ivy
Is all that and more,
behind the closed doors