The Diffrence Between Us Poem by Rebekah Gamble

Sometimes we, as humans,
search out what we have already found.
When we find it, if we find it, nothing is the same.
We see, now, the rough-hewn door
is still there,
but much smaller.
The stone before it
is still cracked and grey,
but dirtier and plainer.
It is summer,
when it should be Autumn-
but at least we are alone.
As humans, each one
wants to know
what's beyond that door.
We may stare at it,
contemplate it,
even touch the handle-
but most pause here,
let a sweat-covered palm release the handle,
let the door alone in their panicked mix
of memories of things between events and place,
mostly we've surrendered
to the fact that we're memory
and are full of fear or pain, perhaps both.
However, my friends,
I have stood at the rough-hewn door,
and it's not smaller-
I am simply larger.
I have opened it and slipped inside
without any hesitation whatsoever,
and that is why we are so different.

2 august o8