The Door

A mystery before me, the colors fading. Standing as a gateway lures, beyond appearance, beyond mere wood or the haunting grain that imbues, but rather a calling portal. A heavenly door, easing in mind the trials we've endured. It stands as if with arms accepting, intruding me with promises as if a sweetness or ripened aroma has only just arrived, perhaps the wealth of a nutriment beyond. But all of my senses, all my ends relieved, and perhaps this mystery is but a wish of some distant home; some dream of bed to keep ambivalence alive. The promise that someday far away from this illusion awaits a kindness, a heart that bleeds and mends in the wiser hours than these - and I, perhaps too, a weary stone among the shade.