Locked Doors

Charred doors
bulge with damp,
dreams and ideas,
accumulated years,
dust and grime
of dead inhabitants,
the keys mislaid
in council drawers,
long forgotten.
Bereft of residents,
the condemned
building shifts and sighs,
and prepares for bulldozers
and wrecking balls –
no need for locks now.

Kim M. Russell, 2017

Image result for dilapidated and vandalised tower block
Image of Grenfell Tower found on thetelegraphandargus.co.uk

My response to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Weekend Mini-Challenge: Doors

 This weekend, Brendan has challenged us with doors that mark our coming in and going through and out of this life. Big doors, little doors, stone doors, blue doors. Portals in, passage out. He wants us to find a door and try it.  Will it open or is it barred? Half-open, almost-closed? What freedom flows in as we go out? And what is the melancholy click of a door closing forever? Is there one door representative of the whole, a page which emblems the bestiary? Or is there a poem which resembles a house-shaped Advent calendar, with a door or window to peer into along every step of its way?


14 thoughts on “Locked Doors

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