When a problem arises, it's like facing a slammed door.
Scrambling in search of a solution, you're then thrown one more.
Here, have another problem. See here, another slammed door.
Where, oh where, are the keys that will unlock and restore?
Searching, stretching, stressing, stripping apart the ceiling and the floor.
To find the hidden key. To pry open the slammed door.
Here have another problem. And then have just another more.
Forgetting where you were standing at the original first slammed door.
In a daze of round and round, up and down, yes and no, fast then slow.
To stop or to Go. When finally you open the locked door.
Unlocked you move forward free and unhindered.
Happy to be making progress; healthy and uninjured.
- Only to soon discover, some doors should remain closed.
Advancing in the dark frightened and exposed.
When keeping a door shut becomes singularly vital.
Dipping dodging and denying access to a path being key to one's survival.
Here have another problem. And then have another more.
Where, oh where, are the keys that will shut and lock the door?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Such a nice poem, Shameca. Read my ars poetica named Poetic Sense-1. Thanks.