The Threshold Poem by Kurt Philip Behm
The Threshold
My door is made of solid bronze
but doesn't have a lock
Patina'd with the stain of blood
from all the battles fought
It swings upon a rusted hinge
and creaks when open wide
To welcome back the future-past
the present safe inside
(Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: August,2020)
Reminds me of the moody blues days of the future passed and their threshold of a dream, good poem!
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5/10/2024 6:55:04 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A well authored poem. Truly brilliant.....10+++