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

  • 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.
  • Dan Reynolds (10/19/2013 6:22:00 PM)

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

  • Gajanan Mishra (10/18/2013 10:08:00 PM)

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

Read all 3 comments »

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Poem Submitted: Friday, October 18, 2013

Poem Edited: Saturday, April 5, 2014

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