Hans Ostrom (1954 / California)
Some doors are made of wood,
and some of fear.
Inside, you hear
the knocking, wonder: Should
I open up to what I cannot see?
Outside, you knock,
don't try the lock,
think: What, who, might greet me?
Submitted: Monday, September 21, 2009
Edited: Saturday, July 09, 2011
Comments about this poem (Door Poem by Hans Ostrom )
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