There is a certain time for old men
When we step softly around closed doors
Of other times,
Hoping not to disturb them.
We begin to observe
Stop signs and we heed them.
Better to not bring up
Things of the past.
Instead we think of a more innocent time,
Remembering how we were as young boys,
Just beginning to notice girls.
Secretly falling in love with our
Who smiled a lot,
And smelled so good.
These open doors are ours to visit,
It is the closed ones,
The one with locks on them,
That we scurry past with a quick look.
We do stop sometimes,
Stare at certain doors
Until our eyes begin to mist over,
And we quickly move on by.
It is when we look around,
Seeing no one and open that door,
That our nightmares
Take us places we fear and dread.
ŠJuly 2, 2017 / Jerry Pat Bolton
~ If they give you ruled paper, write sideways. ~