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and how to think it out

a door slammed closed.
so long ago,
one wonders whether it is even locked?
or it and all behind it have simply,
been quietly gathering dust.
this door, it has been ignored,
slipping out of mind and time,
it has at times had artifacts piled and stacked against it,
barricades of unwanted indecision,
I looked a the door, I looked at the handle waiting,

the time of peace was coming to an end,
but we didn’t know, had heeded no signs,
the marching army appeared at the crest of the hill,
as it happens, on a very ordinary workday,
seeming a 1000 armoured bodies silhouetted and,
looking over and looking down they saw,
the door opened just a crack,
and the light from the room beyond,
forming a triangular mat of yellow on the ground,
I looked at them, I looked at the door,

In that moment of a breath,
in that moment of a second,
the mind awash,
thoughts trooping from the unconscious,
pressing forward into the present,
armed with action, armed with purpose,
confident of victory or glorious death,
neurons firing bright sparks,
trench ladders, whistle, up and out,
I looked at the door, I thought a thousand thoughts,

there is nothing behind the door, all hope is gone,
there is a lavish opulent party, and I am forgotten,
there lies dust and skeletons and mud and dread,
there is renewal a resurrected hope for relationship,
there is a veteran waiting for a comrade to walk through,
this door ajar, allowing a slither of light of heaven above,

Let him know I said to tell him ‘well done’,
Let him know of invite written long ago ,
Let him know to now come and join him, now at peace, now free,
now appreciated and in arms embraced accepted.

Etches

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Some of the Poetry of Etches Penmen and Thomas Poe. Good Mates.