~{}~
The rough wood of the slammed door
was tearing up my skin
Like your one-day-beard
before had scratched my chin
.
You wouldn’t let me in
and the door fell
out of its rusty joints
.
There was a whistling breeze
.
Then I saw
there was no one in
at all
just a table with a razor bowl
and a rusty razor
~{}~
Ina 
Comments on: "The slammed door" (6)
This is very sad I think.
Why is it that we write more poems about lost love do you think?
Not just you and I but poets in general.
Is there a need for angst tp provoke a poem?
David
It is easier to write about that for some reason. And it is the most awfull thing for most? And it is romantic in a way, the loss, the emotions, the drama. And universal. Like dead.
Once you have had a lost love, you know the deep of that pain.
?
This one was a door I saw in my mind, old wood, you know, and rust and a table with just those items. It was a sort of vision, a scene, something.
Explaining poetry is difficult. And I am a beginner looking for a way 🙂 So perhaps you better tell me the answer 🙂
Ah, I haven’t got an answer Ina 🙂
It was just that your poem got me thinking about it.
I shall continue to ponder as I go wander through the supermarket!! 🙂
David
lol Don’t forget to ask people how they are doing 🙂 ( well you know, like in your poem)
Hello Ina,
I enjoyed reading your poem. 🙂
Hi Jeanie, thank you 🙂