Mike Acker

Painted Doors - Poem by Mike Acker

Every breath I take is a labour of love,
for this body, I must sustain.
It seems happy, in this world.
But as for me, I would like to go.

I've stopped inventing purpose, reasons,
goals and dreams. I just don't have the ingredients,
anymore. I tried the usual exits, but they all
led me back to where I am, to my body's relief.

So, now, I paint black doors on walls;
doors that just won't open. I've got to get out.
I stretched it as far as it will go.
As a last resort, I tried to look for God who,

they say, is in my heart. But all I found was
a long obituary about his timely demise.
'He was old and cruel and had to go.',
was all the eulogy said.

They tell me what I need is hope;
I just don't argue anymore.
I really want to go.
I thought maybe a new love

might ease the pain, but
then again, I've tried that before.
One of these days, one of these doors
might just open, if the black paint

ever has mercy on my soul.

Topic(s) of this poem: life

Poet's Notes about The Poem

What can I say?

Comments about Painted Doors by Mike Acker

  • Silver Star - 3,854 Points Susan Lacovara (10/24/2013 11:07:00 PM)

    Powerfully written and stirring. Thank you for sharing. (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Veteran Poet - 1,907 Points Dan Reynolds (10/19/2013 6:22:00 PM)

    I find this hard to believe. (The bullshit below, not the poem above.) (Report) Reply

  • Gold Star - 69,187 Points Gajanan Mishra (10/18/2013 10:08:00 PM)

    labor of love, I like it, thanks. (Report) Reply

Read all 3 comments »

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

Poem Submitted: Friday, October 18, 2013

Poem Edited: Saturday, April 5, 2014

[Hata Bildir]